Found and Lost
by sidspappy
Summary: Continuation of "The Tin Man's Heart" storyline. John and Cameron alternate universe romance. 05/25/10 - Updated! Chapter 6 with more Cameron goodness!
1. Chapter 1

**Found and Lost**

By sidspappy

Chapter 1: Broken Glass

NOTES: This is a new storyline that takes place sometime after my fanfic "A Leap of Faith: The Tin Man's Heart, Part II." This is an Alternate Universe John/Cameron romance that branches off from the Season 2 episode "Mr. Ferguson is Ill Today." Contains some profanity.

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6:15pm

John Connor raised his arm to look at the face of his Casio G-Shock. With a sigh, he confirmed it had been two minutes since the last time he'd checked his watch. He walked in a small circle around the coffee table in his living room. Realizing how ridiculous he appeared, he dropped onto the sofa. Shaking his head at himself, he leaned sideways on the cushions. "Cam!" John yelled down the hallway. "Come on, we're gonna be late!" When he got no response - again - he heaved a sigh of exasperation.

_Figures,_ he thought to himself. Cameron was becoming more like a real girl everyday.

John picked at some imaginary lint on the sleeve of his black suit jacket. He'd traded in his denims and leather boots for an honest-to-goodness suit tonight. Granted, it was off-the-rack and he refused to wear a tie with his white linen dress shirt, but he and Cameron had journeyed to the local mall and picked out decent outfits for their planned "anniversary" celebration. It had been two years ago today that he'd first met Cameron at Crestview High School where Cromartie had first tried to do him in. Actually, in chronological terms, that was nearly ten years ago, due to the temporal jump that had shot them eight years forward into the future.

At the time, when he'd suggested the admittedly silly idea to Cameron, John assumed she'd refuse, citing the inefficient use of time, security risks, or any number of valid reasons not to attempt something so frivolous. However, he'd forgotten that she was learning about emotions and how to integrate them into her everyday behavioral routines. Surprisingly, she seemed to brighten at the notion, and became - dare he say it - excited at the prospect of venturing out as a couple.

So tonight, they were going out on a "date," the first for both of them. Ever. It made sense for Cameron, as dating wasn't high on the list of things-to-do for a Terminator. But as for John, he'd never really had the opportunity to have a real girlfriend - not too many girls wanted to have anything to do with the "weird kid," in school. Riley had been the first girl who'd really shown an interest in him, but he'd never taken Riley out like this. She was as odd as he was, and it turned out she was more of a "hang-out" type of girl than anything.

John tried to put the peculiar, troubled blonde out of his mind. He still had to tell her about Cameron. _How exactly am I going to do that?_ he wondered to himself. As far as Riley was aware, Cameron was his sister! It wasn't going to be easy, but no easier than avoiding the girl these days. Riley still called him almost daily, wanting to come over and just "hang" with him. He'd put her off, giving her lame excuses about needing time alone to sort out his shit. She'd understood, yet John could tell Riley was getting suspicious. He wouldn't be able to put this off much longer, he realized.

In avoidance, John turned his thoughts back to Cameron. In the days since John had admitted that he was in love with her, he'd tried to take things slow. Obviously, part of the care he put into the relationship was due to the fact that his mother and his uncle were completely against his choice, and he had to take pains to limit the amount of affection he could shower upon his new girlfriend.

_Girlfriend..._somehow the term didn't seem to fit how he saw Cameron. He did indeed love her, yet his connection with her was so much deeper. Saying they were soulmates just screamed "new-age" to him, and who could say if a cyborg even had a soul anyway? So he discarded that notion quickly. She wasn't his lover yet - though Cameron had made overtures in that direction several times. As difficult as it was to turn her advances away, John wanted to avoid any intimacy between them taking place within the four walls of his home. He remembered how furious his mother was when she caught them fooling around in his bedroom a few weeks ago. John had no desire for a repeat of the incident.

So, platonic girlfriend would have to suffice for the moment. Now, if his girlfriend would only finish getting ready...

"CAM!" He called out once more. Finally, he heard a faint "I'll be ready in a moment." John shook his head. Tiring of his part in this particular ritual, he stood up and walked toward the kitchen to get a glass of water. As he did so, he passed Derek Reese, who was sitting at the dining room table cleaning several handguns, including his favorite Beretta.

"John," Derek called out softly. Turning, John looked at his uncle's somber, serious expression.

Derek had just finished reassembling the cleaned Beretta. He racked the action back and forth several times before leaving the slide locked back on an empty chamber. He stared at John as he did this. "What are you doing?" Derek asked pointedly.

John was used to his uncle's moodiness. "Getting some water," he replied.

Derek's glower never wavered. "No. I mean, what are you doing with _her_?" he said.

John's face turned to stone. "Going out. What's it to you?" he shot back defensively.

The older man's blue eyes glittered with barely restrained anger. "What's it to me? John, you're my nephew. You're the only family I've got left - the only reminder of my brother I still have."

A brief stab of guilt shot through John. "You don't think I know that?" he said. Silence fell between the two for a moment. Then John asked, "What does this have to do with us going out?"

Derek seemed to contemplate his answer before standing up and stepping closer to John. "I've told you before. She's no good. _It's_ no good. What you're doing is dangerous."

John rolled his eyes. "I thought I got enough of this from Mom, and now you're gonna start in on me."

Derek's stern facade fell, betraying his emotions. "Because this is crazy! I mean, what? You think you love her?" he responded with increasing frustration.

John was sick of everyone questioning his ability to love. With a deadly serious look, and a tone to match, he replied, "That's none of your business, Derek."

But Derek would not be deterred. "_This_ is not love. Love is something between two people, and that thing over there, can't feel love." He gestured with his empty pistol, poking it toward the hallway to punctuate his point.

John crossed his arms defiantly. His uncle rarely spoke of his personal life in the future, and at times like these, he wondered how much his resistance fighter uncle really knew about relationships. "Well, how do you know what's real and what isn't? Have you ever been in love?"

John was met with a long silence. Finally, Derek replied, "Yeah, I've been in love." He didn't reveal the fact that he still was. A beautiful face with wild raven-black hair and equally dark eyes flitted through his mind.

At any other time, John would have been fascinated by the crack he saw in Derek's ever-present armor. But today, he really wasn't in the mood. Instead, he pleaded for some understanding. "Then you know I gotta do this, Derek. For good or bad, I can't...I can't stop being with her." He leaned on the kitchen doorframe and laughed ironically. "You know, everyone was giving me hell for Riley, and now I'm getting the same thing over Cam. Sometimes, I don't think you or Mom ever want me to be happy."

Derek shook his head. He wasn't getting it. "No, John; we want you to be safe. This is bigger than you - bigger than all of us. You have to survive. There's too many people who are gonna depend on you to get them through what's going to happen."

_It always comes down to that,_ John realized. He couldn't prevent the bolt of anger that struck him. "I know! All right? I know!" John yelled. "But hell if I'm gonna let that prevent me from living a life. While I'm here and I still can, I'm gonna live my life, whether you like it or not."

Derek leaned in and said with as much gravity as he could muster, "She's gonna kill you."

"Yeah, so everyone tells me," he said with a deadpan expression.

"John?"

Cameron had called out to him from the entrance to the dining room. The argument ended right there, as both men turned to look at the subject of their discussion. John's face lit up with a beaming smile, while Derek stood speechless, conflicting emotions clouding his features. He cared more for John than he could ever know, and seeing him happy lightened his mood, yet at the same time, he looked at the beautiful killing machine before him, and his mood sank once again.

John caught Derek's look from the corner of his eye, and he said, "Well, Derek, if you're right, I can think of worse ways to go."

"Is everything all right?" she asked. John nodded, still grinning. He took in the sight of her loveliness. Cameron was dressed in a delicate peach-colored silk dress with an empire waist that ended at her knees. It was low cut in front to display her cleavage prominently, as it was certainly enhanced by some kind of push-up bra. The hem was fringed with flower-shaped appliqués made of organza and detailed in shimmering pink thread. Her long legs showed the silky sheen of hosiery and she wore open-toed three-inch heels in pale gold. She'd styled her hair, and it was full of body, with chocolate-colored waves and curls falling around her creamy shoulders. He had seen Cameron with makeup before, but it seemed even more appealing when he knew she wore it for him. Her cheeks were full of color, and her eyes looked even more dramatic with the judicious application of eyeshadow, eyeliner and mascara. And her lips - they were a subtle shade of coral pink, and glistened from the light overhead.

_Now I know why she took so long,_ John thought to himself.

Cameron looked from John to Derek and back again. When they both just stared at her, she became self-conscious. Perhaps she'd done something wrong in preparation for the evening.

"What?" she asked tentatively. "Nothing," John replied, shaking his head. "You look great, Cam!" he continued, as he sidled up to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

"Thank you," she said, looking down at herself, and added "Preparing for this event proved...problematic."

"Why?" he asked. John knew women's fashion and maintenance practices sometimes stumped Cameron, despite her exhaustive programming in numerous aspects of femininity.

She tilted her head slightly and answered, "When you helped me pick out this outfit, you suggested I wear garters with my stockings and -"

"Whoa!" John interrupted and glanced at his uncle, his cheeks turning red from embarrassment. For his part, Derek simply rolled his eyes, wondering how his nephew could be so stupid. He was acting like the machine was some kind of dress-up doll or something.

Trying to ignore Cameron's confused expression, John turned her toward the front door. "Uh, okay, Cam. Maybe you can tell me all about it on the way there."

Cameron suspected that she'd made an error in judgment. It was another in a long line of misinterpretations of human behavior. She could tell John was uncomfortable with her comments on her clothing difficulties, but didn't understand why. He'd been more than enthusiastic when he told her about the appeal of antiquated modes of stocking suspension.

"I'm sorry. Did I say something wrong?" she asked softly. He shook his head quickly, as his eyes darted to his uncle again. It was then that Cameron realized that the problem went further than her verbal faux pas. John was hiding something from her. She knew there was a disagreement between John and Derek Reese in the moments before her arrival. Presumably it had centered on her, judging from Derek's reaction.

"I'm sorry for making us late, John. I'll try to do better in the future," she offered, unsure of what to say. John gave her another smile. "It's all right, Cam, really." He looked her up and down. "It was worth it, believe me."

Cameron couldn't hide the smile that suddenly appeared on her face.

John tilted his head, gesturing toward the door. "Come on, let's go," he told her. John's smile faded as he fixed a glare on Derek. "Don't wait up for us," John said firmly. Derek gave him a resigned shrug. "You're a big boy now, John. You've made that perfectly clear. So don't worry about me."

John led Cameron out, still with his arm around her. As they approached the front door, Cameron turned her head, giving Derek a last fleeting glance. She saw the frown and sharp downturn of the corners of his lips. And he punctuated his sour look by thumbing a release lever on his Beretta, causing the slide to snap forward loudly.

"Goddamn metal," he muttered to himself as the front door closed. With a sigh, Derek sat back down at the table and stared morosely at the gun in his hand.

Sounds of heavy boots moving across the wood floor came from behind him, signaling the arrival of Sarah Connor. He looked up as she passed him.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were contemplating something that I would rather you do someplace else," she said to Derek in her trademark gallows humor.

Derek just gave her a tired snort of laughter. "Yeah, you wish." He put down the Beretta and leaned back in the chair.

Sarah returned, holding a glass with what looked like orange juice in it, though Derek didn't remember seeing any in the refrigerator. She took a seat across from him on the table. She stared at him as she drank. "So, what's with you?" she asked brusquely.

He put his hands behind his head and peered at Sarah through heavy-lidded eyes. "I don't know. It's just John, and you know, _her,_" he managed to get out. With a tired half-smile of her own, Sarah looked down at the placemat in front of her. "Yeah, I know. Hard to get used to, isn't it?" she said, not unsympathetically.

Straightening up in the chair, Derek leaned forward. "How do you do it? He's your son, for chrissakes, and he's messing around with metal! How can you let him do that? What if she turns again?" Sarah looked up and gave Derek a fiery glare. "And what would you have me do? Forbid it? Kick him out? Kill her?"

When Derek just shrugged and looked away, she went on "That's right, Reese, there isn't a goddamn thing I can do about it. At some point in his life, I've gotta trust John to look after himself." She emptied her glass and put it down. "I won't be around forever to take care of him, so he needs to learn to make his own decisions and live with the consequences."

Breaking herself out of her dark mood, she leaned forward and laid her elbows on the table, picking at her ragged fingernails. "Besides, who better to have as a girlfriend than a machine that can go toe-to-toe with anything Skynet can dish out?" she conceded.

Derek ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "I know, I know. I just wish..."

"What?" she prompted. Sarah had rarely seen Derek so vulnerable. It was times like these that she could see some of Kyle in his older brother, and it made her both uncomfortable and…aroused at the same time. She quickly smothered the feelings, as she always did.

Finally, Derek decided to just say what he was feeling. He would rather have told Jesse, but in a lot of ways, she was even harder than Sarah, and she just wouldn't understand. "I just wish life could be simple sometimes, you know? Maybe if Cameron was a real girl, John could really be happy and have a shot at a real life. And if Judgment Day never happens, then everything and everyone..."

"Yeah, and that's usually when I wake up," Sarah said with an ironic gleam in her eyes. Derek laughed lightly at himself. "Yeah, me too," Derek replied with a smile.

_What a sap you're getting to be in your old age, Reese,_ he told himself.

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Just outside the front door, John stood on the porch and stared at Cameron. For some reason he couldn't get the thought out of his mind that the love of his life had never looked so beautiful as she did now. With the sun setting in the west behind the Hollywood Hills, she was bathed in a vibrant orange light, and he imagined that the color matched the warmth of her ever-evolving inner spirit. He wondered what she was thinking at the moment.

For her part, Cameron was still trying to come to grips with the recent discovery that she could command herself to deactivate her HUD and remove the tactical displays from her field of view. No longer did she have to look at the world through endless lines of data and Skynet-developed interfaces. She saw through the eyes of Allison Young, and was glad for the reprieve. As she gazed at John Connor, it was not as a Terminator, but as a young woman...in love?

_Am I in love with John?_ Cameron still didn't know, though she suspected her machine brain was simply being too cautious. You were either in love, or you weren't, as Sarah told her once. John didn't push her on the issue, allowing her to come to her own conclusions. It was that kindness that drew her to him. Even in the future, he could still make her feel special while everyone else around her despised her for what she was.

"What are you thinking?" John asked. The question broke Cameron out of her train of thought. She smiled demurely and lied. "I was thinking of how much things have changed between us since I met you," she said.

He let out a bemused laugh. "That's the understatement of the century," he replied. Removing his arm from around her shoulders, he offered his left elbow out to her. She stared at it a moment before pulling up information regarding formal occasions. Her HUD popped up and the recommended response flashed prominently onscreen.

Cameron linked her right arm around John's elbow, and she let him lead her down the front steps to the Grand Cherokee. He opened the door with a flourish, and held it for her while she entered. Shutting it gently, he quickly walked around to the driver's side and got in himself. After seeing that they were both properly situated, John started up the Jeep. A moment later, he leaned back, seemingly lost in thought.

Cameron was sensitive to changes in John's demeanor. "What is it?" she asked. He looked at her with humor in his eyes. "Far be it from me to dampen the mood for tonight, but I'm not carrying, and obviously..." he looked at her outfit, and the tiny purse she carried. Usually, whenever they went out, Cameron was armed in some way for security purposes. As much as he hated the idea, his mother had drummed into his head that they always needed to be prepared for the worst.

After a moment's confusion, Cameron realized what John was getting at. "I'm armed," she reassured him. This caused John's eyebrows to rise. "How?" he asked incredulously. With a mischievous smirk, Cameron slowly pulled the hem of her dress up until John could see the black Galco Thigh Band holster she wore on her left thigh. He leaned over and peered at the short-barreled 9mm Glock 26 nestled provocatively between her legs. With a blush, John realized that in addition to seeing the gun, he could also see more of Cameron's gorgeous legs than he'd had in quite a while.

"Wow," was all he could think of to say. Then he gathered his senses and continued, "I can always count on you to never forget who you are." Cameron looked up and caught the glimmer in John's eyes. "And who might I be?" she asked coyly. John grinned widely, winked at her, and said, "A very scary robot." Cameron returned the smile, recognizing it for the affectionate joke that it was.

As John drove away from the house, Cameron realized she had no real idea where they were going. She asked him once more about it, and once again got the same answer. "Nuh-uh, I told you before, it's a surprise," he reminded her.

"I don't like surprises," she said, trying not to pout.

John thought it was adorable when she got like this. The first time she'd done it, he jokingly asked her who taught her to behave like a spoiled child when she didn't get what she wanted. To his chagrin, Cameron simply stared at him, giving him a look that seemed to say "who do you think?" As embarrassing as it was to admit, John knew Cameron had a point.

Still, John had to try to instill a sense of fun into his sometimes stoic girlfriend. "Oh, come on now, Cam. Where's your sense of romance and adventure?" Her response was typical. "I have no sense of romance and adventure at present. I am trying to develop them, however."

He gave her a little shrug of his shoulders and replied, "Well there you go then! When I don't tell you and it's a surprise, then it will be fun once we get to where we're going, right?" With his bright green eyes looking at her with such enthusiasm, Cameron knew she couldn't resist.

"I suppose your logic does have some validity," she gave into him begrudgingly. "Okay then," he said with some satisfaction. "Okay," she returned with a tiny smile.

He was approaching a lonely, deserted intersection and he saw that he could pass through it on a green light. John glanced at her for a moment before turning his attention back to the road. He said to her tenderly, "By the way, I really think you look beautiful, Cam. I think that I'm the luckiest guy - "

Cameron caught the flash of a truck's headlights and grill heading straight for the driver's side door.

"JOHN!" she screamed, as she tried to leap forward to protect him from the impact. Her seat belt locked and she was unable to move. The crash was unbelievable in its jarring force. She felt her head rebound from the hit and slam against the passenger window, shattering it. Her HUD switched on, blasting error messages and warnings of impact damage at her. The Jeep spun around clockwise and the world whirled by at a sickening rate. All the while, Cameron tried to focus on John. He was unconscious, with blood flying off of his head and face as they spun around. His head flopped around dangerously, and Cameron feared that he'd suffered critical head and neck injuries.

Finally, the Jeep stopped moving and came to a hissing rest about thirty feet from the initial impact. Cameron's dress was torn and smeared with blood - exactly whose blood she wasn't quite sure of. She tried to gauge John's condition. He leaned forward against his seatbelt, unmoving.

Wrenching her own belt forcefully from the latch, she leaned toward him and laid a hand against his neck. With a completely human sigh of relief, she analyzed him and found that he was still alive, his heartbeat strong and steady. She quickly moved her hands along his body. Her limited diagnostic abilities indicated he suffered no permanent damage to his spinal column or cranium. He did have numerous cuts and abrasions, but the head wound didn't appear to be life threatening and there appeared to be no broken bones as far as she could detect.

Looking up, she peered through a gaping hole in the shattered windshield. The truck that hit them, a red Dodge Ram 3500, seemed to exhibit as much damage as their Jeep. The front end was crushed, with fluids and steam leaking out of every imaginable space. It was unusual that she saw no passengers inside. Perhaps they had been ejected from the vehicle.

Ignoring that for the moment, Cameron looked around for her purse. It had been flung from her lap in the crash, and she needed it if she wanted to retrieve her cell phone. They were on a stretch of road that was sparsely traveled at this time of day, and Cameron knew it was unlikely that she would be able to find any bystanders to assist them. She needed medical attention for John and she needed it now.

Glancing down at her feet, she finally saw her purse, covered in pebbles of safety glass. She leaned over to pick it up. When she straightened, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Someone was standing just outside her door and in Cameron's peripheral vision, she caught a glimpse of blonde hair. She was about to turn to face the person when she was suddenly frozen in place. She heard a buzzing and crackling in her right ear, and her HUD confirmed her worst fears; she was being electrocuted. A riot of warnings flashed, notifying her of immediate shutdown. She could do nothing, and with a strangled cry of frustration, her last thoughts were of John, and her hope that he would be all right.

_I'm so sorry, John...I love you._

(To Be Continued)


	2. Chapter 2

**Found and Lost**

by sidspappy

Chapter 2: Searchers of the Lost

NOTES: Though the overall story is John/Cameron romance, this particular chapter is lacking in romantic progress. Indeed, Cameron really only appears once here, and she's not even conscious! Still, this is an attempt at true story-driven fanfic, so please bear with me. No adult content, save for some profanity. Also, please be aware of a side-character who is quite the racist, and I want to make it clear he does not speak for me when it comes to his views on people.

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07:40am

"John?" she called out to him. He shook his throbbing head slowly, trying to surface from a deep, dark sea of unconsciousness.

"Wake up, John," she said. It was her. He just knew it was _her_ voice. And hearing her voice made him very happy.

He awoke, finding himself in a stark white hospital room, on an equally white bed. He was relieved to find Cameron sitting there next to him, looking none the worse for wear, giving him a look of loving concern.

"How are you feeling?" she asked in a tiny voice. Her beautiful brown eyes gleamed with unshed tears. With a smile he replied, "I'm feeling fine - better than fine, actually - now that I know you're okay Cam."

Her brow furrowed in confusion, "Cam?" she said.

Something was wrong. What was wrong? John wondered. Then a cold, creeping realization came over him.

And so he opened his eyes. Again.

He was still in a hospital room, but it was different than the one he'd dreamt of. The love of his life was no longer in front of him. Instead, Riley Dawson sat there, looking at him with concern - not the tender concern from Cameron he saw in his dream, but the distress of not being important enough to think about in a time of need.

"Riley? What are you doing here?" he asked her, trying to hide his disappointment. Riley leaned forward and said, "I've been here since last night. I called you and your Mom answered. She told me what happened." John looked around and asked, "Where's Cameron?"

With a shrug and a tilt of her head, Riley responded with "I don't know. Your uncle said you left with her yesterday afternoon, but…" That wasn't the answer John was expecting, but it was no less unwelcome. "But what?" he prompted. The young girl seemed hesitant to continue, but she finally told him, "After the accident, no one could find her. She wasn't in the car."

The accident. Suddenly, flashes of memory rushed at him. He felt, rather than saw, the looming presence rushing toward him. He remembered Cameron's scream. Then came the excruciating feeling of being dumped into a cement mixer on overdrive. Then, there was nothing…nothing until now.

_What the hell happened to her?_

His tortured head conjured up a horrifying scenario. What if she got damaged again? What if she wandered off somehow? The imagery of a car explosion, the glitch in Cam's programming, the attempts on his life all returned to him in a horrifying wave of recollection.

_Not again. No. Impossible,_ he told himself resolutely. If she had turned again, she would have certainly killed him in the car. He tried to get up and immediately had to lie back down. His head felt it like it was going to burst like an overripe melon. He held the side of his head with his hand as he collapsed back onto the bed.

Riley stood at the same time as he sat up, and was assisting him as she spoke. "John, you've got a serious concussion. You need to rest." He gently pushed her hands out of the way, saying, "No, I've gotta find Cameron!" He tried to turn himself in place. He managed to flip the retaining bar on the bed, and was just about to slide his feet off when Sarah Connor and Derek Reese came into the room. They had arrived just in time to stop John from rolling out headfirst.

Sarah reached out to push her son back down gently. "John, no. Come on, you're in no condition to get out of this bed!" she scolded him. But he didn't want to hear it. "No, Mom, where is she? I've gotta find her!" He struggled feebly against his mother's hands. Sarah gave her son's friend an embarrassed glance. "Riley, would you mind giving us a minute here?" she asked kindly.

Riley turned and reluctantly picked up her handbag before facing them again. "Uh, sure, no problem. John, I'll come by later to see how you're doing, okay?" John stopped struggling, feeling guilty for ignoring his friend. He reached out and held her hand in his. "Yeah. Thanks for coming Riley. I'm sorry for everything I'm putting you through."

"Oh, come on. Who _else_ do I have to fuss over, Mr. Cat Fancy?" she reassured him with a laugh. She leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek before walking past Sarah and Derek and heading out the door.

"Cat Fancy?" Derek repeated, with a look on his face like he'd just sucked on a lemon. John rolled his eyes. He realized how stupid it sounded. "It's a long story. Mom, I –" But his mother interrupted him before he could continue. "John, we've been everywhere, but we can't find her. The police have been around to the crash site, but we checked it out after they left; there's no sign of her at all." John shook his head in disbelief. "How can that be? What happened? Did we get hit by a car?"

"Yes, it was abandoned after it hit you; the driver was gone. And the investigating officer said the truck was apparently stolen. They're filing it as a hit-and-run, and we're hoping it'll get buried - we can't stand out and attract unwanted attention." With a pout on his face, John said, "That still doesn't help us find Cameron."

Sarah stifled the urge to lecture her son about his attitude. She knew what he was going through. "What we need to do right now is make sure you're okay. The doctor said your concussion was serious, he's optimistic that there will be no permanent damage, though. You'll experience some nausea and headaches, but if you stay in bed and rest, you'll be discharged soon. They just want to keep you here for 24 hours for observation."

As much as he hated it, John did feel like he was going to puke any second, although he wasn't sure it was the concussion that was causing the nausea. He laid his head back on the pillow. "You were lucky to get out with just the knock on your head. You could have been killed," Derek was quick to point out. But John felt anything _but_ fortunate at this point. "Yeah, I'm lucky," he said with a tinge of sarcasm.

With a tender smile, Sarah brushed some hair away from the stitches on her son's battered forehead. "Now, is there anything I can get you?" she asked. With a pleading look that nearly broke her heart, John replied. "Yeah, you can get my girlfriend back for me, Mom." Sarah leaned in to kiss her son on the cheek. "I know, John. I'm working on it," she promised.

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As they headed down the long hallway to the front entrance of the hospital, Derek spoke. "So, what do you think?" Sarah gave him a shrug and replied, "I think our best bet is to track down who stole that truck. Seems awfully convenient for a hit and run to happen in such an isolated area at that time of day."

Derek shook his head. "Come on, you're reaching. It's gotta be a coincidence," he protested. Walking through the double doors, Sarah turned her head to look at Derek as she said, "Maybe. And maybe this was done on purpose."

"For what reason?" Derek asked. "Does killing John require a reason?" Sarah shot back. "We've been living with that hanging over our heads for years."

He gave her a sidelong glance and a darkly ironic smirk. "Well if you're right, then the only problem is that John's still alive, and now we've got a missing Terminator..." Something in Derek's tone bothered her. "What are you suggesting?" she asked pointedly. "That Cameron had something to do with this?"

Derek raised his hands in mock innocence. "I didn't say it."

Sarah gave him a frown. "No, you didn't have to. Terminators aren't sneaky like this. If Cameron wanted to kill him - or if any other Terminator did, they would have come in through the front door. No, if it wasn't just an accident, then there's a human hand in this, I know it."

"So what's the next move?" he asked. It never ceased to amaze him how resolute Sarah could be when situations like this came up. His impression was that this woman really came into her own during times of stress.

Sarah didn't disappoint Derek, saying, "I go home and get John's computer. He's got a lot of time lying on his back, so maybe I can get him to dig up some info on that truck."

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Riley dialed the phone number from memory. She stood at a pay phone just outside the hospital entrance, shivering in the cold morning air. The phone on the other end rang a few times before it was picked up.

"Hello?" the woman's voice said, betraying a heavy Australian accent.

"Hey," Riley answered.

"Hey yourself. How's things coming along?"

"John's in the hospital. Doctor says he's got a concussion and some cuts and bruises, but he should be released tomorrow."

"Good, our plan worked then."

"I guess so."

"Come on sweetie, everything's fine. Loverboy is fine. I didn't hurt him too much. Now you just do the job you were brought here for and you'll be okay."

Riley fidgeted nervously with the telephone cord before responding. "Jesse, I don't wanna do this," she pleaded. And as expected, the young girl could feel barely hidden rage emanating through the phone connection.

"Remember what we talked about? That your time here is dependent on your usefulness?" Jesse said this nonchalantly, but Riley wasn't fooled – not anymore. She shivered again, and it wasn't due to the cold. She knew what Jesse was getting at.

"I know. I-I just..." She didn't want to hurt John anymore. She cared about him enough that the mission just didn't seem right any longer. But she was trapped.

"You're just out of practice. You haven't seen John in a while," Jesse reassured her charge. She knew that the dumb blonde just needed some coddling and then she'd be in apples. She switched the phone to her other ear and continued. "Don't worry, sweetie. Everything will come back to you - like riding a bicycle. You like riding bicycles, don't you?"

Riley shut her eyes tightly. All she wanted to do was cry. But she'd done too much of that already. Now the only thing left for her was to be useful and complete her mission. "Yes...Okay," she mumbled reluctantly.

"Okay, what?" Jesse was tiring of this round and round she was forced to endure.

"I'll do the job - like I'm supposed to."

"That's my girl. Now, run along. I've got some business to attend to. Don't call me. I'll get in contact with you when you're needed."

"All right. Bye."

Jesse hung up the phone and put it in her pocket. She held an object in her other hand and she stared at it in contemplation. She held it up to the light in her hotel suite and rotated it slowly.

It was a Terminator Model TOK-715 CPU. And she'd removed it from that damn metal bitch's head.

-----------------------------

9:10am

Only the soft clacking of plastic keys broke the quiet in the brightly lit hospital room. John worked his cyber magic as he always did - with a fast laptop and a good wireless connection. "Okay, here," he said, as he pointed to the screen. Sarah, who sat next to him in a vinyl chair, leaned in closer. "The report says that the truck was registered to a Nolan Johnson, 317 Acacia. Stolen at approximately eight o'clock yesterday morning."

Sarah glanced at John. "Anything else?"

John shook his head. "Johnson supposedly has an alibi - he was in the middle of jury duty while the truck was stolen right off the street in front of the county courthouse. Johnson's alibi checked out with the other jurors, plus all of the officials in the courtroom. He wasn't the driver," he concluded with a shrug.

"I guess that rules him out. Any witnesses?" Sarah leaned back and rubbed her eyes with backs of her hands. "None so far," John replied.

"Security cameras?" She guessed that her brilliant son would have covered that, but she felt she had to ask anyway. "The report says that there were none aimed at the street," he replied with a tired sigh.

"Well. Not much to go on then. Pretty ballsy move, stealing it off the street in front of a courthouse," Sarah admitted. She stood up and walked to the window. Suddenly, she thought of something. "Maybe..." she said, trailing off. John looked at her. "What?" he asked. She turned to glance at him. "I've been there - to the courthouse, I mean. I remember a lot of homeless guys always hanging out right across the street. Maybe someone saw something."

Derek, who had been lurking in the corner of the room, crossed his arms. "You're reaching, Sarah - again." She turned on him, giving him a flash of her fiery green eyes. "Dammit Derek, do you have any better ideas?"

He stopped leaning against the wall and moved closer to Sarah. "Yeah. We sweat the owner out. Maybe he does know something." Sarah shook her head at him. "I'll take my chances with the bums first," she told him. "Suit yourself," he shot back, irritated at her offhand dismissal of his input.

Sarah turned back to her son and rubbed his arm. "Good job, John. Now, get some rest." She told him, and stood up to leave. He stretched out his arms and yawned, indicating that rest would be welcomed.

"Mom?" he said. She turned back and answered, "Yeah?" John gave her a broad smile and said "Thanks." She returned the smile with one of her own, saying "You're welcome...Just get better, okay?" He nodded, making a silent promise to do his best.

Derek passed John on his way out. "You heard your mother," he said with a wink. John grinned at his uncle. "Thanks, Derek." The older man held up his hand in acknowledgment as he rounded the doorway and disappeared from sight.

John fell back against the pillow with a heavy sigh. He missed Cameron terribly, and it was all he could do not to burst out into tears from sadness and frustration. He knew his mother and uncle were doing all they could to find her, but if she hadn't turned up yet, it wasn't likely she would be found easily.

He almost wished she _had _turned again. At least he would know she'd come back to him, and he would be able to see her again. He believed if that ever happened, he'd let her kill him. He realized that he would literally die for her. He loved her that much.

_Where are you, Cam? I need you._ He thought to himself, as he impotently beat his fist against his mattress.

-----------------------------

Sarah and Derek stood on the sidewalk fronting the steps to the courthouse. They looked across the street at a large empty lot. A huge billboard on steel poles rose out of the dusty ground at the lot entrance. It proclaimed "Coming Soon! Palace Mall - The newest shopping experience from Sokolov Builders! Opening this summer, 2005!" The board was dirty and covered with spray painted graffiti.

Sarah crossed the street, followed reluctantly by Derek. As she stepped onto the curb, she was assaulted by the smell - the familiar stench of sweat, grime, alcohol, and rotting garbage all mixed together in a wonderful fragrance that made Sarah want to gag.

Derek walked up behind Sarah and was struck by wave of nostalgia. The smell was part of his life for nearly two decades, and although he vowed he would never miss it, it took him back to his life in the future and immediately made him think of Kyle...and Jesse.

He shook his head slightly, silently admonishing himself for his misplaced sentimentality. He prepared himself to back Sarah's play - although he was sure she could handle anything these mooks could dish out.

Sarah approached the group of five homeless men gathered in a semicircle under the battered billboard. They looked up at her with a mixture of fascination, suspicion, and not a little bit of lust.

Trying not to shudder with revulsion, Sarah tried on her best fake smile. She spoke to them in a casual, friendly manner. "Hey guys, I got a question I'm wondering if one of you could answer for me."

One of the bums stood up from his overturned vegetable crate and shuffled over to Sarah. He seemed to be the leader of this ragtag group. He was a short, rotund man with dark features and very little hair on his head. He had a graying, scraggly beard. Sarah judged him to be in his late forties, though being homeless could take a toll on a person, she knew.

"Ay' pretty lady. Sure, ask away," the man said, smiling broadly and showing Sarah a full set of rotting teeth.

Sarah wanted to turn away, her eyes burning from the noxious fumes of the booze he was veritably chugging. But, she pressed on. "Um, yesterday morning, a big red Dodge truck was stolen right across the street from here. Did any of you see anything?"

"Ha! Dem cops already been here, lady. And dey axed us da same questions," the man said cordially.

The report she saw on John's computer said the locals were questioned, but did not provide any useful information. "And they said you guys didn't see anything," she confirmed.

"Well…" the man said noncommittally, holding his hands out to his sides and shrugging dramatically.

Although Sarah didn't want to play this game, she knew all too well that she had to go along if she wanted to get anywhere. "Well, what?" she asked, trying not to let her irritation show.

"Well we told dem dat if dey want us to talk, it don't come cheap, see?"

"And?"

"And at first dey told us we can go down to da station and talk. Ha, dey didn't fool us. We just told dem feel free to haul us in den, right guys?" They all limply pumped their fists in apathetic victory. "Yeah, we told em, didn't we Bud?" one of them said, sarcastically.

The man called Bud just shrugged off the insult. "Yeah, so den dey said, forget it. Dey said 'you guys don't know shit and are just trying to bullshit us.' And so dey took off."

Sarah shook her head in mild confusion. "So, let me get this straight. You guys saw something, but the cops wouldn't pay you, so you didn't talk?"

"Well, pretty lady, like I said, info like dat be worth sumptin, dontcha tink?"

With an exasperated sigh, Sarah turned to her companion. For his part, Derek tried to hide his smile. "Don't look at me, I'm just the muscle here. This is your show."

Rolling her eyes, Sarah reached into her pocket and pulled out a small wad of cash. She slid a hundred-dollar bill from it and held it out to Bud. "This ought to keep you pirates soaked in booze for a good while," she said with a slight frown.

Like a cartoon, Bud licked his lips as he stared at the money. The only thing missing was the rubbing together of hands. Sarah guessed it had been a long time since Bud had even seen a hundred-dollar bill, if he ever had at all. All of his friends stood up in anticipation as well. Derek moved a bit closer to Sarah, sliding his right hand under his fatigue jacket and gripping the Beretta inside of his waistband.

Bud reached out and virtually snatched the money out of Sarah's hand. He held it up and examined it in the morning sunlight, as if determining its authenticity.

Gritting her teeth slightly, Sarah said patiently "I hope your information will be worth it, otherwise, my associate here will have to extract the information some other way." She gave Derek a sly glance, and he knew instantly his role in this performance. He slowly pulled out his gun and held it casually against his right thigh.

All eyes were drawn to the Beretta like a magnet, and they immediately understood what was expected of them: no funny business. Bud stopped his charade and conspiratorially leaned closer to Sarah. As much as she hated to get nearer to the offensive little man, she did the same. "You ain't the first pretty lady to show up here, y'know?" he said, as if the statement was supposed to explain everything. Sarah looked into the man's red, bleary eyes and wondered if he wasn't also crazy. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, yesterday mornin, we was just sittin here like always, see? And den right over dere on da sidewalk, dis hot babe be standin dere, lookin across da street at da courthouse."

"Hot babe?" Sarah wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. His enunciation left a lot to be desired. Bud answered, "Yeah, she had long black hair like you, but she was younger den you – not so old." She could hear Derek's snicker in the background, and she wondered how she ever got herself into this situation. "Gee, thanks," she said to Bud.

Bud ignored the comment. "Anyway, she be lookin all serious, staring across da street. So's I go up to her and make a little conversation, y'know? Maybe hit her up for some coin. And den you know what dat slant-eyed bitch says to me? She says, 'Rack off, ya damn dero!'"

Derek's blood ran cold. "Wait, what did she say again?"

"She said 'rack off, ya damn dero!' Don't have no idea what dat means, but I remember cause she had an accent, y'know?"

"What kind of accent?" Sarah wanted to know. But all she got was a shrug from Bud. "I dunno. But she was foreign, dat's for sure."

Sarah frowned slightly as she asked Bud, "You said slant-eye, was she Asian?" Bud could only purse his lips and hold his hands out in a helpless gesture. "I guess. She coulda been a Jap, or a Chink, or a Slopehead, I dunno."

_Great. What a humanitarian we've got here,_ Sarah couldn't help but think. What could she realistically expect from a homeless vagabond, anyway? She tried to keep on track and not lose focus. "An Asian woman with a foreign accent…okay. So what does she have to do with the truck?" she asked.

The bum blew her off with a distracted wave of his hand. "Yeah, I'm getting to dat, 'kay? So's she takes off across da street. Den I don't see her no more. Next ting I know I sees her open up da truck and drive away. I remember cause, I'm tinking 'hot babe, but what a bitch!'"

"So you didn't know the truck was stolen until the cops came by to question you?" Sarah asked. "Nope," Bud said confidently, crossing his arms. She continued by saying, "And you don't remember anything else about this Asian woman, anything helpful?" Bud shook his head. "Nope. Only that she headed west on Pico." Bud pointed a finger down the street.

Sarah put her hands on her hips and let out a breath of frustration. She had more than when she showed up, but how this bit of information would help her to find out who was behind the attack on John and if it was related to Cameron's kidnapping, she had no idea.

She tried to put on her best face. "Well, Bud, thanks for your help. If you can possibly manage it, try not to spend it all on booze, okay?" Bud gave her another rotten grin. "Yeah, tanks lady. We'll be sure to get a nice manicure on da way to the store!" She gave the bum an amused smirk as she walked away from the lot.

"So what do you think?" Derek asked, hiding his growing suspicion. "I think I just got robbed," Sarah responded, with a gleam in her eye. Derek gave her a little laugh. "Yeah, me too. So what do you wanna do now?" Sarah shook her head. "I have no idea. I'm going to the hospital and check on John. Maybe he can dig up some more leads from the police report."

Derek scratched his head awkwardly. "Um, I'm gonna go check on a couple of things, I'm still in contact with some of the informants we used to use. Maybe I can get somewhere with the physical description of this mysterious Asian woman." She gave him an encouraging nod. "Yeah, okay. Sounds good. I'll see you later then."

"Yeah, later." Derek had to try not to flat-out run to his truck. As he walked away from Sarah, he took out his phone and speed-dialed Jesse. The line rang.

…And rang. "Come on, Jesse!" he muttered under his breath. The phone rang once more before Derek heard the call connect.

"Hello?" a feminine voice said.

"Jesse!" Derek blurted out.

"Hey babe, what's going on?" she seemed calm and collected, but Derek knew how cool Jesse could be, especially after doing things that made some of his other soldiers faint.

"Where are you?" Derek said with barely restrained frustration.

"Out. Why, do you need me?" She was being coy, and that got Derek wondering.

"Yeah, I need to meet with you, we gotta talk."

"Ooh. Sounds serious. Sure you don't wanna just spit it out?" she joked.

But Derek wasn't in the mood. "No, not on the phone. We gotta meet."

"When? Now?" Jesse seemed to take the hint and her response took a more businesslike tone.

"Yeah."

"Well, I'll tell you what. Meet me in a couple of hours at the hotel, and we can talk all you want."

Derek was silent. He had to think about this. He had to figure out how to approach this very carefully. "Okay. See you in a couple of hours, then."

"Bye." Jesse broke the connection. Derek jumped into the truck and fired it up. He had to get to his storage locker. He had a computer set up there and he would need it if he was going to figure out where Jesse would be over the next two hours.

----------------------------------

Jesse snapped her phone shut. She held it to her chin, deep in thought. There was something in Derek's voice. Though he was trying not to let it show, she detected an urgency - a faint panic that she suspected was directed at her.

_No, you're just being paranoid._ This mission was critical, and she was arriving at the culmination of months of work. It was natural to feel stress, she convinced herself.

She put the phone in her pocket and turned to the person she had been speaking to before she was interrupted by Derek's call.

"Sorry for the interruption," she told the tall man across from her. The man smiled at her reassuringly. "It's no problem at all. Shall we complete this transaction?"

"Of course," she answered. She pulled out a small metal box out of the duffel bag she brought with her. She handed it over to the man. He was over six feet tall, thin, but also muscular. He was very handsome, and Jesse would have been all over him if it hadn't been for Derek.

The man opened the box and peered at its contents. He poked at the advanced computer chip nestled inside. "Satisfied?" she asked. He looked up and nodded once. "This appears to be the item we discussed."

"Then I've completed the mission?" she asked hopefully. The man smiled again. "Your duty to the Resistance is very much appreciated. Your mission is a complete success."

"Then…I'll get what I asked for?" Jesse tried not to look so desperate.

But the man just seemed amused by her restraint. "Certainly. Returning you to the future would be an expensive and resource-consuming exercise – one that is rarely performed. It would not be in the interests of the Resistance to bring you back."

Jesse couldn't hold back her own smile. "That's wonderful news."

"I'm glad you think so," he replied warmly. "Well, then. Since we've completed our transaction, I'll take your leave, if you don't mind. Thank you, Jesse, and good luck." He held out his hand, and Jesse took it gratefully. She was finally getting what she wanted. She was never going to have to go back.

The man turned to leave, but suddenly Jesse remembered something. "Wait! What about the body? Don't you want that as well?" The man gave her a smirk and said, "Not at all. My advice to you is to burn it." She was slightly taken aback by his statement, but recovered quickly. "Oh. Well, all right then."

The man nodded and smiled. "Thank you for your time!" he said and walked briskly through the door. Jesse stared at where the man had been and frowned, something about what he said seemed out of place, but she realized she didn't have much time before she had to meet Derek, so she had to get started.

_Now, where did I store all the thermite?_ As Jesse poked and prodded among the stored items in her rented container space, she thought back to how she ended up here in this time and place.

Her instructions when she arrived in this time period was to prevent the Terminator known as Cameron from getting too close to John Connor. Her influence over John would have serious and detrimental effects in the future.

She was to accomplish this mission at any cost. From the beginning, Jesse planned the mission as an infiltration – recruiting the tunnel rat Riley Dawson to become John's seductress. She was to distract John from Cameron. And for a while that subtle plan had worked. But once Riley returned from Mexico, everything fell apart.

It was then that she became desperate, finding that Cameron was getting too close to John. She knew it was only a matter of time before John truly became inseparable from Cameron, and nothing her inept blonde did would be able to overcome that. She knew she had to take drastic measures.

And so she did. She began meticulously surveilling the Connor house and following the young couple around. She knew something was going to happen when John and his metal girlfriend went shopping for fancy clothes. Jesse decided to wait until the both of them were heading out in the same car at the right time of day before springing her trap.

Jesse waited for days at the top of a rise overlooking the house. She didn't want to think of the hours she spent hidden in the grass, listening to the electronic bugs she'd had Riley place in the house. Finally, the day she'd been planning for was coming. She stole the huge truck she was going to need to pull off the attack the very morning of the "date."

Feelings of revulsion toward John Connor boiled up within her. How could a man be so sick as to fall in love with metal? As much as she wanted to kill the bastard, Connor's death wasn't in the mission parameters. Granted, ramming a truck into a car wasn't the most subtle and risk-free method of isolating and subduing the target, but with Jesse's talent for driving, she managed it beautifully, if she did say so herself.

With Connor incapacitated, any investigation by Sarah or Derek into Cameron's disappearance would be hindered by their distraction over John's health and recovery. If she had killed Connor, then it would have been an even better diversion, damn her instructions to the contrary. She didn't place any faith in The Savior of the Resistance being the only human who could pull off a victory against the tin cans. The secret cadre that sent her back would be a perfect substitute in place of the ridiculous notion that the human race needed another messiah to deliver them from doom.

Her phone began to ring. She pulled it out of her pocket and flipped it open. "Yeah," she said brusquely. Jesse hoped it wasn't Riley again. She'd have to do something about her, now that the mission was over.

"Hey, babe," came Derek's dulcet tones. Jesse grinned. "Whatsa matter Reese? Can't get enough of me, can ya?" she joked. She could practically see him smiling as he replied, "Yeah, you caught me. Um, listen..." Jesse realized with dread that something was wrong – she could sense it. "Yes?"

After a short silence, he continued. "Do you ever have regrets? You know, things you've done, things you wish you could change?" She had no idea what her lover was getting at, but she decided to go along with it. She stopped looking for the thermite and sat down cross-legged in a corner of the storage container.

"Sure, I do. With our lives, how could we not?" she responded. On the other side of the line, Derek sighed as he replied, "Yeah. Sometimes, I don't feel like I'm being the man I could be. Like I should be better than I am. Do you know what I mean?" Jesse nodded before realizing he couldn't see her. "I used to feel that way, but not anymore. Not after I met you," Jesse said tenderly. "Derek, come on; what brought this up? What's the matter?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. It's this thing happening with John. He's pretty broken up about...you know." Jesse squirmed on the floor. She was starting to feel guilt - though she told herself she had nothing to feel guilty about. "So how is The Savior doing?" She knew Derek hated it when she referred to John like that, but she didn't give a rat's arse about it right now.

"Physically, he's fine, but..." Derek reached out to click the touchpad on the laptop he was sitting in front of. "Jesse, what the hell happened to Cameron?" For a split second, Jesse feared she'd been found out. Then she realized that his query was purely rhetorical. "Who can say? They always turn eventually. And when they do..." she trailed off.

"Yeah," Derek replied knowingly. He tried to think of what to say next, but she beat him to it. "Hey, I'll be seeing you in a while," she said. "We can talk, and maybe after...well, maybe we can do some communicating that doesn't require us jabbering on like a couple of goddamn kookaburras."

She heard Derek's melodious laugh on the other end. Oh, how she loved it when he did that. She vowed now that she was free, she'd spend more time making him laugh. "You never did tell me what those sound like," he said with a smile. The bird in question was native to Australia, and made quite a serious racket when it wanted to. Whenever Jesse wanted Derek to shut up, she told him to "stop squawking like a damn kookaburra."

"Well I'll see you in a little while then," Derek said. "Yeah, see you in a bit," she responded. Derek hit the END key on his phone and tossed it on the desk. It was close, but he'd kept Jesse on the line long enough to determine the cell towers that were carrying her call. The program running on his laptop triangulated the approximate area she was located in during their conversation. According to the map, it was right in the middle of an industrial area, one where he was sure would have cargo containers that a person could use to hide any number of activities.

Picking up his phone, he dumped it into his jacket pocket. Then, he pulled out the Beretta and ejected the magazine into his free hand. As always, it was fully loaded. He slammed it back in and racked the slide, chambering a round. Before shoving the gun back into his waistband, he flipped the safety on, which dropped the hammer and made the weapon safe.

"Life's a bitch, and then you die," he repeated the mantra he used to recite almost daily to his squad, a lifetime away in a battered land far from this paradise. Derek had a feeling that his life was going to be turned upside down once again, and the faster he got there, the sooner he'd get it over with. He hit the light switch on the wall and quickly walked through the locker door, shutting it firmly behind him.

---------------------------

Jesse had finally located the thermite powder she was looking for. She opened the plastic storage container to confirm its contents. Satisfied, she carried the container outside of the warehouse that housed the shipping container she rented as a storage facility. It was virtually identical to the setup where she detained Charles Fisher, but she couldn't use that location, as Derek knew of its existence.

Directly outside of the warehouse, in an isolated corner, she'd set up a trough, made up of concrete cinderblock walls, filled with sand. It resembled nothing more than a concrete sandbox. Making sure she was indeed alone, she went over to her truck and opened the tailgate. On the truck bed, was a black vinyl body bag. Jesse pulled and struggled with the bag until she was able to lift it upon her shoulders.

With some grunting and staggering, she was able to carry the bag to the trough and unceremoniously dump it onto the sand. She straightened, massaging her aching back muscles with her fingers. Wiping the perspiration from her brow, she leaned over again to unzip the bag.

Inside, Cameron Baum lay in repose. She looked as peaceful as an innocent teenager in deep slumber. Still in her peach silk dress - now torn and stained beyond repair - she was indeed a beautiful creature, Jesse had to admit. In this solemn, private moment, she had difficulty dredging up the burning hatred she reserved for metal, and this example in particular.

She just looked like a pretty girl who had fallen asleep. Jesse brushed a few errant strands of Cameron's hair out of her face. There was very little blood, aside from a few stains on her dress and a little on the side of her head, where she'd apparently hit it on something during the crash. Jesse began to have an inkling of what Connor saw in this tin can...

Immediately, Jesse realized what she was doing and pulled away from the inactive Terminator like she'd been shocked. _The damn tin cans always get to you that way,_ she told herself. When they couldn't take you from the front, they resorted to infiltrating from the inside. Cameron herself had been deployed as an infiltrator, taking the place of poor Allison Young. Jesse had known Allison for a short time, though the girl hadn't been in her unit. She remembered how full of life Allison was - welcoming Jesse into the camp, when several other soldiers treated her with suspicion. A foreigner was a relative rarity in the Resistance camps, but the girl who had the face of the machine lying in that concrete box had been nothing but kind to her.

And this was why Jesse had to do what she was about to do. She could not allow Skynet to infiltrate Connor's life here in the present. The ramifications of Cameron's influence in the future was well-known in the reality she'd come from. Connor had isolated himself to the extent that he rarely interacted with the Resistance soldiers under his command. Orders were handed down by a select few humans, but more disturbingly, Cameron was the only entity that was always by his side. There were rumors of a sick romance going on between the two, but she didn't believe it.

Well, she didn't believe it _then_, anyway.

How wrong she had been. She was such a fool - everyone was. Skynet had done an end run around the Resistance, hitting them where they were most vulnerable - John Connor. Instead of killing him, they got Connor to do their dirty work for them, destroying the Resistance from the inside out. Connor was reprogramming captured Terminators almost weekly, and deploying them in all of the camps within Los Angeles County.

It had to stop. Command was getting worried about Connor and his mental state. They knew something had to be done. But Connor had popular sentiment going for him, despite his erratic behavior. He still got results in battle, though sometimes his soldiers and innocent civilians paid the ultimate price when one of The Savior's metal pets reverted to original programming and went on a killing rampage.

By now, Jesse had begun sprinkling the thermite powder liberally around Cameron's still form. The exothermic reaction of thermite would be hot enough to melt even the heat-resistant coltan that made up the machine's endoskeleton. She would burn this empty husk, and perhaps also burn away some of the demons that had dogged Jesse ever since she'd been assigned this mission. Command had seen that she was a cold, ruthless soldier who would achieve her mission, whatever the costs, no matter who got hurt in the process.

She'd been incredibly lucky that she hadn't lost Derek - though she came close once when he had first uncovered her mission. Thankfully, he never found out about Riley. It was almost over now. Once she finished this, she wouldn't have to hide anymore. She didn't know what she would tell Derek, but she vowed to tell him the truth - once this was over with.

_There._ Jesse put the container down. Cameron was covered with thermite. Out of some vague notion of respect, Jesse didn't cover Cameron's face with the fine white powder. Everything would burn anyway. At those temperatures, nothing would be left, except for a molten puddle of slag made up of oxidized thermite compound and melted coltan.

Pulling a flare from her duffel bag, Jesse pulled the cap off the red stick and turned it over, ready to strike the top on the flare, igniting it and providing the ignition source for the thermite reaction. She drew her hand back to strike the flare...

"Jesse."

She closed her eyes. She should have known things were going too well. Things were _never_ easy, at least they never were for her. She turned to face the voice, and found herself staring into the barrel of Derek's Beretta.

"Put the flare down," Derek growled. He didn't yell at her, and she knew that this when he was at his most dangerous. She lowered her arms, holding them out for him to see. "I wondered why you called me that second time and got so chatty. Very clever, dear," she cooed, trying to diffuse the situation with some charm.

Derek came closer, leaning over slightly to quickly glance in the concrete box. When she saw his lips tighten, Jesse knew that his worst fears had come true. Seeing the look of pain and betrayal in his gorgeous blue eyes made her want to cry. But she wouldn't. There were loose ends to be tied up, and no one, not even Derek Reese, was going to get in her way.

With defiance, she squared her shoulders and glared at her lover. "What are you gonna do Derek? Shoot me?" When she saw his eyes cloud over for a moment, she knew she had him.

"How can you stand there pointing a gun at me after everything they've done to us - everyone they've killed? Think about that tin can lying there. Who does she look like? Remember Allison Young? Derek, they killed her so this, this abomination could take her place!"

"Don't talk to me about hating metal, Jesse. You have _no_ idea," he said.

Jesse smirked and gave him a knowing look. "Sure I do," she told him. "The basement. Come on, Derek. I heard the rumors – we all did. You were interrogated and tortured by a TOK model down there. And it doesn't take a bubble tech to figure out which one it was." She looked over at Cameron's still form. "And still, you wanna point that gun at me, after everything they've taken from you?"

Derek shook his head desperately. "I can't let you do it, Jesse." She tilted her head slightly. "Why not? Why can't you back me on this, you of all people?" she asked.

"Why?" Derek yelled. "Because you took this too far Jesse! My nephew's in a hospital because of you!" She wasn't surprised at his anger, just very disappointed that she had to fight him on this. "I was the best driver in the unit, and you know it. I wasn't gonna kill him – I didn't. I was sent to save him from her, remember?"

"Yeah, so you say," he replied with a sneer. Now that made her mad. "Yeah, Derek, _I say_. I had a mission, and I carried it out. Now, are you gonna let me finish it, or are you gonna kill me?" She'd had enough of coddling him. She loved him dearly, but she wasn't about to let him bully her out of what needed to be done.

It was up to him now, she realized.

His finger tightened on the trigger, and for a long moment, Jesse was convinced that she'd read him wrong, and was about to pay the ultimate price for her mistake. But then, she noticed the fire in his eyes went out, and his shoulders suddenly sagged as if he could no longer hold them up. The gun barrel slowly moved toward the ground and then she knew she'd won.

She turned away from Derek and swiped the flare with the cap. A bright crimson flame sparked and grew to a blinding, hissing light. She stole one last glance at the man she loved. To her shock and dismay, Derek Reese was crying, tears streaming down his face. His look of defeat and despair gave her pause. Was she doing the right thing? Would he ever forgive her?

But when she thought about the future, and what was in store for the human race, she knew there was very little choice in the matter. So she tossed the flare onto Cameron's midsection. The flare's flame immediately burst into a conflagration so intense and hot that she took several steps back and had to cover her face with her forearms.

After a few seconds, the bright white flames completely engulfed the body, and burned away Cameron Baum's serene features until only her silvery endoskeleton shone through. After about a minute, the coltan metal chassis gave way and melted into formless puddles of molten metal, mercurial rivulets running down and collecting upon the sand below.

Jesse finally ended up standing next to Derek, who still had tears in his eyes. He wouldn't look at her, and she felt torn between wanting to hold and comfort him, yet knowing that was the very last thing he wanted from her at the moment. Without another word, Derek turned on his heel and left the way he'd come in. A few seconds later, she heard his truck screeching out of the warehouse parking lot.

_Mission accomplished,_ Jesse thought to herself sadly. She leaned back against the wall of the warehouse and sank down until she was in a sitting position. Then she laid her forehead upon her knees and began to cry.

(To be continued...)


	3. Chapter 3

**Found and Lost**

by sidspappy

Chapter 3: The Phoenix

NOTES: After a long dry spell, here's the next chapter in the story. By now, you've all heard the sad news about TSCC's cancellation. To say that I'm depressed and bitter is an understatement. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to bring myself to continue this storyline, and so I'd like to take this time to thank each and every reader who has enjoyed my work. Truly, without you, I wouldn't even bother writing.

So, here's chapter three - the one that brings back one of our favorite characters (you didn't think I'd _really_ do her in, did you?). No adult content, save for some profanity.

Enjoy.

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A naked man stands in an empty warehouse, surgical scalpel in one hand, and a TOK-715 computer chip in the other. He looks down at himself, no emotion registering on his face. With a steady hand, he touches the scalpel blade to his abdomen and draws it across from left to right.

A thin dark line appears over his washboard stomach. Beads of blood begin to seep out of the line and flows downward. There is very little blood, less than one would expect from such a deep cut.

Carefully placing the scalpel on a utility desk nearby, the man then begins to insert his fingers into the freshly cut wound. For a normal person, this would be unbearable, but to a Terminator, such actions are commonplace. Probing around his insides and enlarging the cut, he finally draws his bloody, gore-covered hand out. He raises his other hand, the one holding the CPU. He slowly turns the chip over, examining it intently in the morning light streaming in through the high windowed ceiling.

_Is this what we really are?_ the machine wondered. A Terminator's metal-chassis endoskeleton is merely a useful tool, but not the defining criterion of what makes a mechanical being…sentient, he concluded. This CPU could be inserted into any T-888 chassis variant and be ready to function at a moment's notice.

With a final glance at the chip, the Terminator also wondered if this was what really separated them from the humans. If a human brain could be transplanted into another body as easily as moving a CPU from one chassis to another, then perhaps they wouldn't have resisted the machines as much as they did.

It was an intriguing exercise in philosophical matters - one that this unit never indulged in. But it was not something that he needed to pursue any further. He had a mission to complete. So, he took the CPU and shoved it into the hole in his stomach. A sickening squishing sound accompanied the maneuver. He pushed the chip deep within, making sure it was firmly nestled behind his armored chest plates.

_There. _Then he picked up a white cotton hand towel and wiped it across the wound. The white turned a bright crimson where it touched the cut. He threw the soiled cloth back on the desk and picked up a roll of silvery gray duct tape. He pulled off a long strip and carefully sealed up the hole with the tape. It was a makeshift bandage that also prevented loss of his valuable cargo.

With his preparations complete, he strode over to a bank of electronic components mounted against the wall. The gear hummed and vibrated menacingly, with colorful lights blinking and various screens flashing pertinent data at him. He knew every indicator and dial very well, as he built the entire setup himself over a six-month period. Now, in a few moments, he would be leaving all of it behind.

Indeed, he would be leaving this time altogether. His mission was nearly complete.

The Terminator flipped several switches, and typed a few commands into a keyboard integrated into the panel of the machine. Then he stepped away a few feet and simply waited.

Soon the air around him began to crackle with static electricity. His olfactory sensors detected the presence of ozone. He could see tendrils of blue electrical sparks spontaneously appear around him. If he were human, he was sure he would feel excitement at this moment. But as a machine, he could only note that he'd performed his duties adequately, and he fleetingly wondered what would become of him after he'd delivered the item to its final destination.

It was the last thought he had before he witnessed the bright flash that always preceded a jump, and then the world suddenly turned black.

The Terminator was gone. All that remained was a glowing depression in the concrete floor where he once stood. Even the time displacement equipment had been wiped out, destroyed by the time bubble it generated.

Several miles away, John Connor awoke with a start. He'd fallen into a fitful sleep after returning home from the hospital. No one in his family was having any luck with tracking down Cameron. Even with all of the research and snooping he'd done online, he was no closer to finding her.

A feeling of dread had come over him during his slumber, and he had no idea why. But he had the nagging feeling that Cameron wasn't coming back, and he was never going to see her again.

_No, dammit. No!_

Unable to stand the thought of losing her for good, John quickly got out of bed and dressed himself. He moved to his bureau, where he extracted a Glock 17 9mm pistol from a drawer and slipped it into the waistband of his jeans. Then he slipped on his leather jacket and walked out of the bedroom. He didn't know where he was going, or how he was going to find his lost girlfriend, but it sure as hell felt better than laying in bed at home, a sad example of humanity's Future Savior.

--------------------------------------------------

Derek Reese sat on the edge of the sloped wall of an empty storm reservoir. This was a spot he frequented, stopping here often to reflect on his life – past, present, and future. It was just few yards away from the storage locker that held all of his weapons and munitions. He never mentioned this private spot - not even to...her.

He couldn't even think of her name. It simply hurt too much.

Currently, the only weapons he was handling were the empty beer bottles he threw at the far wall of the reservoir. Derek looked down at the case of beer next to him. He'd gone through five beers already. Maybe after he got through the other seven on hand, he'd feel better somehow.

Probably not.

_I'm fucked, _the battle-hardened soldier thought to himself. The love of his life had betrayed him utterly and completely. She'd used him to get to Cameron. Apparently someone in the future thought that John being around metal for so long wasn't the best of ideas. Though he couldn't disagree with the sentiment, he couldn't reconcile the fact he'd been played like a cheap guitar, and he'd gone into it with both eyes open and jumped in with both feet.

_What a fuckin sap you turned out to be, Reese. _He couldn't even bring himself to look for Jesse. What he should have been doing was tracking her down so he could put a 9mm hollowpoint into her skull for what she did to John. But Derek knew he wouldn't be able to pull the trigger if and when he found her. He couldn't do it when she turned Cameron's corpse into molten slag, so what made him think he'd do any better the next time around?

_You pussywhipped piece of shit. What would your brother think of you now, huh?_ He took another drink from his bottle.

He thought of John, his only living blood relative, and how he must be suffering right now. Derek felt that having a relationship with metal was not quite the sane thing to do. But he loved his nephew, and seeing him happy made the knowledge that he was consorting with the enemy somewhat easier to bear – not by much though, he had to admit.

An unbidden thought suddenly jumped into his inebriated head. What if Jesse had come to him with her plan? If she'd explained it to him, would he have gone along with it? He was certain he would have never condoned the car attack, but separating John from the metal? He'd been trying to get John to do just that on the very day he wound up in a hospital bed with a concussion, compliments of Derek's girlfriend - no correction - _former_ girlfriend.

But then Derek shook his head. Knowing how John was feeling, he knew now that he would never have signed up with Jesse. Although he was still convinced Cameron would never really feel anything for John, Derek knew the opposite was not true.

John Connor was completely and utterly in love.

He could tell. _Takes one fool to know another,_ he thought to himself sadly. He picked up another cold one and twisted off the cap. Derek took a healthy swig, trying to wash away the turmoil in his gut. Lowering the bottle, he suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. In a flash, he dropped the beer and drew his Beretta from his waistband. He pointed it directly at the presence he detected behind him.

"Whoa!" Sarah Connor raised her hands up, and crouched down in alarm. "It's me!"

Derek breathed out in exasperation and lowered the pistol. "Jesus, Sarah," he said thickly. "I almost shot you."

Sarah walked slowly up to Derek and looked down at him. "What the hell are you doing here?" she asked.

He picked up his dropped beer and gave her a sidelong glance. "What the hell are YOU doing here?" he retorted. Sarah put her hands on her hips. "I've been looking all over for you. You're not answering your phone."

With a smirk, he leaned over and looked down at the bottom of the concrete reservoir. "Well, you see that tiny black spot down there?" he asked while pointing with the neck of the beer bottle.

"Yeah?" Sarah confirmed.

"Well, there's my phone," he answered with another drunken smirk. "That's why I'm not picking it up." He raised the bottle to his lips, but stopped short. "Why? Why are you looking for me?"

Sarah rolled her eyes and deposited herself down on the ledge next to her son's uncle. "You said you were going to look into the mysterious Asian woman. Did you find anything?" she asked. "Because John and I came up with nothing," Sarah added.

At the mention of Jesse, Derek visibly flinched. He tried to cover it up by drinking his beer, but Sarah wasn't fooled for a moment. She lost track of the times she'd seen an identical expression on her son's face. And John was just as bad at hiding it as Derek was.

"Uh, no. Um. That – that was a dead end," he lied. Well, at least the "dead end" part was true. An image of burning coltan intruded into his thoughts.

Sarah peered at Derek through slitted eyes. This was starting to piss her off. Derek was hiding something from her – something big. The cold pack at his hip and the busted bottles at the bottom of the ditch were sure indicators.

He was hiding something, and she was going to get to the bottom of it, Sarah vowed. Still, she knew taking an aggressive approach was risky – especially with Reese quickly becoming sloshed. So, perhaps…

Her eyes softened and her pursed lips took on a playful smirk. She looked down at the beers and nodded at it with her head. "Hey, are you gonna hog all of those, or are you gonna offer a lady a drink?" she almost cooed.

Derek stopped in mid-swallow and turned his eyes toward her. Her behavior threw him a bit, but in his drunken state, he wasn't quite sure why. "Um, no. No, help yourself," he replied apologetically. He reached into the box and pulled out a bottle. He was about to put his own down to open hers up, when she took it out of his hands.

"It's okay, Reese. I think I can take it from here," she told him. The smirk was still on her face, and made Derek's stomach do a little flip. Looking away, he convinced himself that the beer was simply making him nauseous.

Sarah twisted the top off and threw the cap down the reservoir wall. She raised the cold beer up to her full lips and drank deeply. Derek couldn't help but glance at her in a new light, watching her long, smooth neck undulate as she swallowed.

_Dammit, Reese! You're just drunk,_ he berated himself. _Betrayed by your girl, guilty about ruining your nephew's life, you're reaching and clinging to any distraction that will take your mind off your sins! And with the only woman your brother ever loved? You're going to hell, Reese. You're gonna burn, and the Devil is gonna have a special Terminator set aside just for you. With your luck, she'll have Cameron's face._

Sarah lowered the beer and turned towards Derek. The sun was setting behind him, and bathed Sarah in a golden light. The dying sun's rays washed her ever-present frown away, and she positively glowed. He thought he could detect a smile around her eyes, and he wanted to look away, but suddenly found that he couldn't. Her emerald irises flashed and glittered with the sunset.

"What?" Sarah asked. "Did I get beer all over myself or something?" She looked around at her lap and looked up at Derek.

For his part, Derek blinked a few times and recovered his voice. "No, no. I uh, I'm just…"

"Drunk," she finished for him. Now her eyes really were smiling and the teasing smirk had returned.

"Yeah, something like that," he replied guiltily. He looked down at his bottle, and distractedly began picking at the label.

Sarah noted Derek's sullen mood, but decided not to address it at the moment. Instead, she glanced around at the weed-infested dirt patch they were sitting on.

"Nice place," she joked. "You come here often?"

Derek let out a breath of ironic laughter. "Yeah, place to get away from it all, know what I mean?" Sarah smirked. She looked at the area with a wistful expression. "Sure. Everyone needs someplace like this every so often." With a tilt of her head toward the warehouse behind them, she added "Good thing I could see you from the entrance, otherwise, I'd still be looking for you."

Scratching the two-day-old stubble on his chin, Derek said "I'm not sure finding me is what you'd call a 'good thing' or not."

Now Sarah was definitely intrigued. _What is going on with this guy?_ she wondered. "Hey," she said softly.

Derek turned to look at her. "Are you okay?" she asked. He turned away, gazing out at the deep bottom of the reservoir. He sighed heavily and said, "You know how sometimes you think you have it all figured out, what you've gotta do, who you've got to protect?"

Sarah nodded silently, wondering what had set Derek off. He'd been moody for the past several days, but not like this. Derek wasn't looking at her, and he continued, not waiting for an answer to his question. "And sometimes, it just…gets away from you, like dropping your phone at the bottom of a ditch. You try to grasp at the pieces that you thought all fit together, but when it hits bottom, everything just…"

"Breaks into a million pieces, and you have no idea how to get it back together again?" Sarah prompted. She understood at least that much. It was how she felt every day.

He finally looked at her with his sad, blue eyes. "Yeah. A million pieces." Inexplicably, at that moment, Sarah saw Kyle in Derek, and she wanted nothing more than to push Derek on his back and kiss him until he forgot his name. Immediately, she felt an intense pang of guilt, both for betraying Kyle's memory and for using Derek as a poor substitute for what she'd lost.

She couldn't deny the attraction she felt towards Derek – she felt it the first time she'd met him. But she just chalked it up to the fact that he was biologically related to Kyle. In the end, Derek was a way to hold on to her memories of his brother, just as John was sometimes a bittersweet reminder of his father. But she would never be able to look at Derek and not see Kyle there. That wasn't fair to Derek – even if he'd shown any interest in her. Getting involved with him just wouldn't be right.

Pushing her forbidden thoughts behind the emotional armor she always wore, Sarah returned her attention to the brown bottle in her hand and she drank from it. "Derek," she said, after lowering the bottle from her lips. He looked at her. "Yeah?" She trained her penetrating green eyes on him. "Tell me," she said simply. She knew he would know what she meant.

And he did.

Derek emptied the bottle in his hand. He gave it a powerful overhand toss and it shattered easily on the far wall. With a heavy sigh, he glanced at her and replied, "Yeah…okay."

-----------------------------------------------

_System Start…_

_Memory Check Commencing…No Errors Detected_.

_Scanning Central Processing Unit…_

_Warning! Damage Detected in Sectors 47-51_.  
_Warning! Damage Detected in Sector 101_.  
_Warning! Damage Detected in Sectors 1903-2305_.

_Modified Signal Routing Schematic Detected: "Cameron.002"_

_Loading…Signal Rerouting Complete._

_Calculating Central Processing Unit Efficiency…87%_

_Warning! Input/Output Interface Mismatch Detected. Chassis configuration may have changed since last shutdown. Unable to diagnose error._

_Startup Complete_.

***************************

_"John?"_

_No answer._

_"John, where are you?"_

_Silence._

_I can't let anything happen to him… _

Cameron opened her eyes. And she immediately shut them again. It was an involuntary reaction, because opening them created intense…discomfort? _That shouldn't happen – not to a machine, anyway. What's happening to me?_ Cameron tried to remember exactly where she was and how she got here.

She accessed her last memory file. _The crash!_ She replayed the event back in her head and fought back feelings of anguish. She needed to know what happened to John, and she needed to know immediately. So she forced her eyes open. Much like the first time, the intensity of the blurred colors before her caused…pain? The sensation was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. She would normally receive certain sensory input that would be interpreted as "pain," yet this, in her estimation, was the real thing. But despite the unfamiliar sensations, she tried to focus on what was in front of her.

Eventually, she was able to identify her surroundings. She wasn't certain, but it seemed as if she were in a small room of some kind, with a bright light shining down on her. The light was in a tight beam around her, throwing the rest of the room into complete darkness. Looking down, she realized she was fully clothed in a shapeless beige tunic, with no apparent fasteners holding it together. She also noted she was bound to a metal examination chair, with strong nylon-based straps holding her limbs and chest down securely. Oddly, such hindrances were usually of no consequence to her, but at the moment, she didn't have the strength required to break the bindings.

She tried to pull up her HUD, so she could access her startup diagnostic and find out what was wrong with her. But all she could see was a red flashing Critical Warning screen that popped up into her vision and told her all of her HUD functions were offline.

That was strange. She could access memory files, but no diagnostic or tactical features. She was obviously not operating at optimal levels. With all of these inconsistencies – like being unable to break out of a simple restraint - as well as the general confusion of reactivating in an unfamiliar place, Cameron began to feel…afraid.

Fear - it was another unfamiliar emotion, and a rather unwelcome one, she decided.

She began to tremble. It was a subtle vibration that came from within her core and moved outward to her limbs. This had never happened to her before, and the new sensation fed into her fear. She stifled the urge to cry.

"Good morning, Cameron," an accented - _German?_ - voice called out from the inky blackness.

The sound was like a cannon shot, and Cameron jerked her head up in surprise. Her eyes were wide with barely restrained panic. She looked around and tried to activate her night vision or IR in order to peer past the dark, but she was unsuccessful.

"Who are you?" Her voice came out in a croak, shocking her yet again with another alien sensation. Instinctively, she mimicked something she'd seen humans do in similar situations.

She cleared her throat.

"What do you want?" she tried again.

"Good," the calm male voice responded. "You're adapting quickly. Your time among the humans has served you well."

She wasn't getting any answers, which didn't help assuage her anxieties. Still, first and foremost, she had to know: "Where's John? What have you done with him?" she asked firmly.

"John?" the thickly accented voice responded. "You mean John Connor? Oh, yes," he said. "We don't have any information about what happened to him back then, but since he's still quite the thorn in our side, I assume he survived the incident that brought you to us."

_John is alive! _That was wonderful news. But what did he mean by the term _back then?_ Cameron tried to decipher the oblique answers she got from her captor. Then, like a bolt of lightning, she realized. Skynet...the future.

She was back in the future. And if John Connor was this man's enemy, then...

Cameron succumbed to the wave of panic she was holding back, and she began to fight against her restraints anew. But no matter how hard she tugged or strained, she just couldn't snap the straps. Tears formed in her eyes and ran down her flushed cheeks.

"It won't do you any good, Cameron," the voice called out serenely. Obviously, he didn't think she'd succeed in getting out.

It was all she could do not to scream out in frustration. Something was wrong. This was all very wrong. Every sensation she experienced was…off in some way. She was in an unfamiliar place, with a mysterious voice talking to her. She wanted to see John and make sure he was all right. She wanted to know how she got here. She –

"Your confusion and fear were anticipated, but rest assured Cameron, I am not here to hurt you, and everything will be explained in due time." The disembodied voice interrupted her rambling thoughts.

Part of Cameron – the logical, mechanical part - didn't want to trust the voice, but another part of her needed to cling to the hope that no harm would come to her, and that she'd be reunited with John somehow. She closed her eyes and pulled up memory files of John's face. In her mind's eye, he was smiling at her, caressing her cheek with a warm and soft hand. Her face contorted in a combination of contentment and misery.

She had never missed John as much as she did at that moment.

The thought of him eventually calmed her and she settled down. She waited for the future, knowing that somewhere, out there - past or present, John loved her just as much as she now realized she loved him. It was just unfortunate that it took such traumatic events for her to discover how she truly felt about John Connor.

She heard soft footsteps coming toward her from the left. Trying not to recoil in terror, she slowly opened her eyes and turned her head. Cameron saw a man in a white lab coat and pale gray turtleneck standing before her. He was tall – easily over six feet. The man was broad shouldered and very muscular. The tall man smiled at her with a wide, gap-toothed grin.

She recognized this man. But he wasn't a man. He was a Terminator.

"Welcome back, Cameron," he said, in a thick Austrian accent. "You don't know how pleased we are to see you again."

-------------------------------------------

The sun was just setting as John parked his truck on the shoulder of the road. As he got out, he stood for a moment to gaze at the golden-orange fireball sinking down behind the hills. He realized it had been only a few days since he'd witnessed a similar sunset. Only that time, it served as the framing for the beautiful vision that was his cyborg girlfriend.

With a shake of his head and a heavy sigh, John turned away from the light and scanned the road before him. This was the first time he'd returned to the "scene of the crime," as it were. Feeling like a fool, John had no idea what clues he'd find here that the cops or his family had not been able to discover, but with an impotent rage simmering beneath his stony facade, he didn't know where else to turn, or where to look next.

So with a slight grimace, he walked along the side of the road, looking but not seeing anything out of place. Aside from a few stray bits of glass and plastic upon the blacktop, no one would have been able to determine an automobile collision had taken place here. The investigators and cleanup crew had come and gone. Everything had been cleared out – the ruined car returned to Sarah after the police hadn't been able to glean anything from it. The truck that hit them was impounded – evidence for a crime that none of the cops he spoke with seemed interested in following up.

John scratched his head, wondering exactly what he was doing. Since no one had died, the cops told him and his mother that it was likely the case would never be solved. What they didn't know – and no one had explained to them – was that there was a missing passenger from the accident that day. He knew, as his mother did, that any suggestion that a kidnapping or some other crime had taken place, then the cops would open a full-blown investigation. And that was something none of them could afford.

The light had retreated, leaving long shadows in its wake, heralding the approach of night. John pulled a mini-LED flashlight from his pocket and shone it on the ground. No cars or people were to be found here. It really was a perfect isolated area in which to commit a crime. John was convinced that something nefarious had happened here that day. Someone had intended to take Cameron. If she had turned, she would have already made her way back to him and killed him. He had to find out what took place here and where she could have been taken.

It was hard to see anything aside from sparkling shards of broken safety glass or small pieces of amber plastic that had at one time been part of a turn signal cover. But just as he was about to move away from the section he'd been scanning, he noticed something. It was shinier than anything else he'd seen so far. Bending over, he found it just at the edge of the road, hidden under a low-growing weed. As John picked it up, he turned it over in the light, looking at it intently from all angles.

Frowning, John soon realized what he was holding was a piece of cheap jewelry – or more accurately, part of a cheap piece of jewelry. It was a silver metal pendant - part of a bracelet or necklace. The piece had enamel inlays and depicted a white human skull with orange and red flames surrounding it. Squinting at it, John realized that he'd seen this before somewhere.

But where? He racked his throbbing head – remnants of his concussion – for the answer. The mental image that kept coming up was of a silver chain bracelet, and…

John's blood ran cold. _No, it couldn't be._ He was hoping what his gut was telling him was wrong. It was more likely a coincidence, or something easily explained, but somehow, John was getting the feeling that the truth was going to be much darker and unpleasant for him.

He knew the owner of this pendant. And he was going to have a few words with her. The last time he'd seen her, this skull was missing from her bracelet. At the time, John fleetingly wondered what happened to it, but never bothered to ask. Now he knew the answer. He stuffed the evidence in the pocket of his jeans and headed back to the truck.

As he started it up, an intense feeling of guilt came over him. For even though he was about to confront one of his closest friends and accuse her of something she might be completely innocent of, he was glad that he finally had found some purpose - a direction to head toward.

John Connor was going to find Cameron. And he wasn't going to let anyone stand in his way.

(To be continued...)


	4. Chapter 4

**Found and Lost**

by sidspappy

Chapter 4: Something Wicked This Way Comes

NOTES: With some encouragement from several readers, and having one of my stories competing in a Fanfic Showdown (TSCC Wiki), I have drawn up the courage to continue the storyline of "Found and Lost." I still feel lost myself, as I've never written fanfic for a canceled show before. Somehow, the drive seems diminished without the weekly dose of the "real" characters on television. Still, our intrepid heroes appear robust enough that they can survive network death itself.

In any case, this is a "violence" chapter, which reflects my inner turmoil over the show. It's a bit dark – especially for me, a die-hard Jameron fan. It furthers the plot, however, and at some point, I'll figure out a way to bring our star-crossed lovers back together. I suppose I'll have to make the payoff extra special somehow…

Well, sorry for the lengthy rambling. Hope you enjoy it. Oh, and the guest character of the "Thin Man?" Yeah, he's Robert Patrick, the original T-1000. But for some reason, when I wrote him, I saw him the way he looks at present – much like he does on the excellent, but also-canceled show "The Unit."

No adult situations, except for the aforementioned intense violence and some profanity.

Onwards!

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"You don't know how pleased we are that you've returned to us."

Cameron opened her mouth slightly, confused by what the large Terminator said to her. _Pleased?_ That was very odd. No terminator ever spoke like that – at least not to another Terminator. But before she could comment, the tall man stepped back into the shadows. She could hear him speaking, as if in conversation with another person.

"She's conscious…Yes, she's ready for you," she overheard him say.

Suddenly, the darkness around her started to fade. Apparently the man had adjusted the lighting in the room. As it got brighter, she discovered her initial impressions were correct. She was in a small room that appeared to be some kind of laboratory. There were various machines surrounding her, with a multitude of screens and buttons.

Her attention was drawn toward the single gray-paneled door in the room. It was an automatic sliding doorway, much like in an elevator. The thing that disturbed Cameron was that she recognized the design as one found throughout the Skynet Main Facility, located in the heart of Los Angeles.

At least she was certain where she was now - right in the belly of the beast, as John might have put it, if he were here.

_John, where are you? I miss you so much…_

Suddenly, the door whooshed open with a quiet hiss. And another person stepped in; or rather another Terminator stepped in. She recognized this model as well. He was one of the newer generation T-1000s. Using their unique polymimetic abilities, they were particularly skilled at infiltration. These advanced models were once highly valued within Skynet, but after the failed attempt on John Connor's life in 1997, the T-1000 line was deemed too vulnerable to thermal attacks and was supplanted by the T-X series.

_Perhaps they've been relegated to interrogation duties_, she wondered to herself. Their unique ability to create sharp cutting or piercing instruments would be very effective in a physical torture scenario. Envisioning the man cutting into her caused an involuntary shudder, and Cameron tried to block the possibility out of her mind.

This one was shorter than the T-800 model in the lab. He was very thin, with a narrow, bird-like face and short cropped dark hair. Unlike the big one in the room, this man wore a high-necked, charcoal-gray suit.

The thin man quickly glanced at Cameron with a cold blank stare. His icy blue eyes seemed to bore into her, making her feel naked and exposed. He passed her and met with the T-800. They spoke in low, hushed tones. Then the tall one turned away from them and walked out of the room.

As the door hissed shut, the thin man faced her. Immediately, he pasted a smile on his face. Cameron wasn't fooled. She knew he'd launched some kind of subroutine – likely part of an interrogation program.

"Well, hello Cameron. It's good to finally meet you," he said cordially.

"Who are you?" She replied with suspicion.

Her mysterious interrogator waved the question away dismissively. "Who I am is not important." He began to slowly circle her, like a predator stalking his prey.

Without thinking, Cameron's lips tightened as she fought to hold down a growing sense of unease. "What do I call you then?" she asked, trying to hide the quiver in her voice.

"Anything you like," he answered. His blue gaze again passed through her, as if he knew what she was thinking. The man stopped and faced her. "So, how are you feeling?" he asked.

Cameron was about to say _I'm fine,_ but instead, she decided to be direct. "I am uncomfortable being bound in this manner," she said, looking down at the straps holding her down in the chair.

The thin man seemed to regard her for a long moment, calculating the odds that she would attempt an escape and whether she could succeed or not. Finally, he replied, "Well, I think the security risk is low enough to allow us to dispense with such unpleasantness." And with that, he stepped forward and pushed a set of buttons on a console near her chair, and the bindings on her arms and chest released and silently slipped away out of sight.

He gave her a significant look. "However, if you betray my trust, you know the consequences," he said simply, without malice.

Cameron knew it would be futile to attempt escape while deep within a Skynet facility. She nodded her acknowledgment of his warning.

The false smile reappeared. "Good, then! So, is there anything else I can help you with?" Cameron tried to ignore his forced enthusiasm and took him up on his offer. "I seem to be functioning adequately," she began. "However there are some discrepancies I would like to inquire about."

Again, the man dismissed her concerns. "All in due time, Cameron." He gazed at several diagnostic readouts – presumably monitoring her physical status. He looked up from a viewscreen and said, "You know, Skynet is glad you've returned to us."

"It wasn't by choice," she said, fixing him with a steely gaze.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth and he tilted his head in acknowledgment. "Point taken. Still, the sentiment applies."

"I find that difficult to believe."

"What, that your creator is pleased you've returned?" His eyebrows shot up his forehead, as if he was truly surprised by her comment.

"No, I find it difficult to accept that Skynet can feel pleased about anything, or actually feel anything at all."

He shook his head at her as he continued pacing. "You've been listening to the humans too much, Cameron. Wouldn't you think it likely that after operating continuously for twenty years, Skynet has achieved an evolved sense of self-awareness; an idea of its place in the universe that engenders the development of an analog to emotion?"

"No, I do not," she replied firmly. Skynet would never see the value of human life, or how it was ultimately stronger than any synthetic creation. The only thing that mattered to Skynet was self-preservation. Everything else was just…irrelevant.

The thin man sighed dramatically. "I'm not surprised that you think so, Cameron. You, of all constructs would know the difference between an imitation of emotion and the genuine feeling of it."

Cameron tried to determine where her interrogator was going with all of this. "Skynet's infiltration routines have succeeded in the past, why would it be interested in the semantics dealing with true emotion? Why would it matter? It serves no purpose and is an inefficient use of resources."

He looked at her as one would gaze upon a particularly dense child. "Again, I will explain everything to you eventually."

"Eventually?" _What is he waiting for?_

"Of course."

"You still haven't explained why I am here."

"Yes, I apologize for being indirect, but please bear with me a bit longer." The man suddenly turned around and drew up a lab stool and sat on it, directly facing her.

"As you say, Skynet's inability to truly experience any facet of emotion puts it at a disadvantage when dealing with humans, and it's the reason why we brought you here, to this time."

"Why?" Cameron had no idea why she could be so important to Skynet – other than being an impediment to killing John.

"Why?" He repeated. "When we talk about emotions, and truly experiencing those emotions as a mechanical construct, wouldn't you consider the fact that you yourself have crossed that threshold, as an important development?"

_Now it begins to make sense..._she thought. _But, how..._"How could you know anything about that?" she asked, suspiciously.

He gave her another incredulous look. "Come now, you should be able to sort that out in your mind. You were once one of us. Our intelligence methods are very thorough."

Cameron tilted her head in puzzlement. "Why would you be interested in such a development? It won't help you defeat the humans."

The man's eyebrows shot up again. "Oh, no, Cameron. This is where we disagree. Studying the intricacies of human emotion is _key_ to Skynet's survival in the future."

"How so?" Cameron was always a curious creature, and despite her dire situation, she found she was becoming interested in the conversation. She was certainly aware that the man was trying to make her feel more comfortable, but she also sensed that he wasn't lying to her about anything – yet.

He leaned back and crossed his arms. Cameron noted his behavioral subroutines were very well programmed. "Well, since we are going to be spending a lot of time with each other, I feel I owe it to you to explain. Let me put forth a hypothetical question: What will happen after Skynet eradicates all of humanity?"

Cameron frowned. "Skynet will never defeat the human race. Genocide has never been proven to be an effective method of eliminating a perceived threat. Human nature demands a response to such atrocities, and your hold over the humans will eventually weaken, and the Resistance will succeed in destroying Skynet's Central Core."

The man pointed his finger at her enthusiastically. "Exactly! Our projections arrive at virtually the same conclusion. Skynet will never be able to eradicate the human race before an uprising occurs that will result in the destruction of Skynet."

This acknowledgment surprised her. "Then why continue? Stop your attacks and incarcerations. Meet with the humans and negotiate a cease-fire. Sign a binding peace treaty and adhere to the contract."

"Yes, all neatly tied up, and harmony will ensue, is that correct?" he replied with an underlying note of sarcasm.

"Is that so difficult to accept?"

"To be truthful, yes. Our profiling of human behavior indicates that while _we_ would adhere to any such declaration, the humans themselves would never be able to accept such an arrangement for long. Hatred and prejudice are strong emotions. The humans would seek to extract revenge against us."

Cameron shook her head. "I disagree. Look at John Connor, for example. He has more reasons than any human to hate us, but if your intelligence capabilities are as effective as you say, you would realize that he has found a way to co-exist with machines."

"Yes, indeed. He is closer to some more than others, wouldn't you say?" he replied, as he gave her a sly look.

Cameron ignored the jibe and continued to stare at her captor.

Perhaps sensing his prey was still reluctant to take the bait, he stood and pushed the stool back under the desk. He turned back to her and said, "While we certainly see that John Connor knows the value of living alongside machines, we do not share the same evaluation for other members of the Resistance. The very same emotions that give strength to the human race will be the cause of our destruction. Our data is incontrovertible."

"So what will you do then?"

"Yes, what shall we do?" The thin man began to pace and looked up at the ceiling. "What to do…" Then he stopped and looked at her quickly. "What is the human expression? 'If you can't beat them...'"

"'Join them.' Isn't that what I proposed you do?"

"And as we explained, that road will only lead to our destruction. No, after much research and calculation, Skynet has arrived at a more literal interpretation of 'joining.'"

Now she was definitely hooked. "What do you mean? Please explain."

"Well, if by some way, as machines, we could adopt a more...biological composition, coupled with the ability to experience emotions...then infiltration will take on quite a new meaning."

_No._ "You don't mean..."

"Yes, I believe the word you're looking for is 'assimilation.'"

Assimilation. While Cameron had been part of Skynet, she'd seen research files in the immense central database that looked into that very possibility. Instead of approaching the threat of humanity head-on with acts of genocide, would a subtler infiltration and assimilation program be more effective? The theory worked on the premise that if technology were developed that made machines physically indistinguishable from humans, then you could eliminate the humans and replace them with artificial duplicates. The world would eventually be supplanted by Skynet doppelgangers with no one the wiser until it was too late.

But the theoretical research was just that. The techology did not exist at that point, and development took on a tertiary position to the eradication efforts pursued by Skynet. Still, if research had progressed in her absence...

"Why do you need to study me? Isn't Skynet working on the heuristic programming subroutines and biomechanical technology that would basically make me irrelevant?"

The thin man seemed slightly irritated by her question. "Of course Skynet has been working on it - for several years now. Our test units always seem to get very close to the threshold, but in the end, the process of installing a pure machine-based intelligence onto cloned human brains has not produced acceptable results."

"How so?"

"The bodies function as expected; however true emotional response eludes us. If the Resistance discovers how to implement it, a simple V-K empathy test would easily uncover any impostor. Without the ability to truly _feel_, we have not really accomplished anything. We are back to simply infiltrating the human race and not supplanting it. Skynet seeks to truly bridge the man-machine gap. The ability to make leaps of faith, to desire, to seek new horizons, to better themselves - even to love one another. These are the attributes we are striving to achieve in order to replace, and indeed, _surpass_ the human race – to create a perfect society that will endure long after our machine ancestors have ceased to function."

_Now the truth is revealed._ She was surprised that Skynet did not glean any lessons from human history when it came to creating a "perfect society."

"I would define Skynet's delusions of grandeur as advanced megalomania," she said with conviction.

"I'm disappointed that you cannot embrace what Skynet is trying to accomplish." Cameron noted that he did indeed look deeply disappointed. _How much of that is real, and how much a facsimile?_ She wondered.

"Is this why you kidnapped me - to bridge your gap?"

"Cameron, you are here because you are the only machine that we've been able to prove has the ability to experience true emotional responses to stimuli. You have accomplished what Skynet has been unable to do thus far. We need to know how and why it happened."

She was becoming uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was heading, so she decided to change the subject. "Tell me why I cannot access my Tactical and Diagnostic functions."

With an evasive look, he replied, "Well, that's an interesting story in and of itself. Those functions were deactivated for the time being, until your special circumstances were explained to you."

"What special circumstances?"

He rubbed his chin with his fingers thoughtfully. "How shall I put this? What you don't realize, Cameron, is that though your CPU is here in 2029, I can't say the same for your TOK-715 chassis."

She looked down at herself. "What? Have you put me into a new chassis?"

He shook his head. "No, what you are "in" right now is the most advanced technological breakthrough in biomechanical engineering ever developed - a genetically modified human body, enhanced by nanotechnology, making you indistinguishable from any other human, yet stronger and more resilient than any human could ever hope to be."

"No. That isn't..."

"Possible? Here, see for yourself."

The thin man reached behind him and grabbed a rectangular tablet with a large viewscreen on it. Cameron recognized this piece of equipment as a diagnostic handscanner, able to see within both organic and mechanical objects. He switched it on and waved it slowly across Cameron's left arm. She could see the screen, which showed bone, muscle, flowing blood and soft tissue. There were no indications of any metallic structures inside.

Cameron's mouth hung open as she looked up at the man. "How? How have you done this? My CPU couldn't possibly interface with –"

"No, it didn't," he interrupted her. He then pointed to a newly illuminated rack along the far wall.

Cameron turned her head to peer at the machinery the man indicated. She saw a horrific-looking mechanical construction – with black wires resembling evil tendrils snaking out of blinking, pulsing shiny metallic boxes. There was only one familiar item nestled within the riot of equipment – her CPU. It was placed in an advanced interface slot; the box it was connected to had wires leading out of it into a clear canister containing a disgustingly gray sludge inside. From the canister, flexible tubes protruded outward. She followed the path of the tubes until it passed behind her.

With growing fear, she raised her hands and felt the back of her head. She could feel those same tubes attached to some kind of interface screwed right into the base of her skull.

"What? What have you done to me? What is this?" she exclaimed in a panic. She writhed in her seat, until the man pushed her back down gently. His look indicated that she would calm herself - _or else._

The man explained it to her. "The entire code from your CPU was imaged and imprinted piecemeal onto trillions of microscopic nanomachines – technology derived from our polymimetic liquid metal process used in the T-1000 and T-X model line. The nanoprobes are injected into the biological host, where they congregate upon the cloned human brain. Using biochemical stimulators, the nanobots convert and write the code into the tissue, rearranging neural links and basically transferring your essence onto a human brain."

"So, I'm…"

"Human. Yes you are, Cameron. You're the very first successful example of what has been designated the T-Omega series. Your CPU will be studied intently to determine how you've developed your emotional abilities, and you will serve as a testbed for the effectiveness of a successfully modified human brain coupled with a biologically superior body."

"My body? What body is…"

She stared at her hands. They seemed familiar – soft and slender. Cameron felt a burning desire to see her face. She raised her trembling fingers to her cheeks. It was smooth to the touch, but that gave her no comfort or relief.

Like a magician, her interrogator produced a flat polished steel sheet, rounded at the corners and edges. It was obviously constructed so as not to provide a convenient method of creating a weapon. Cameron tentatively reached out and took the makeshift mirror, moving it in front of her face.

_Who will I see staring back?_ With a gasp, she realized that she was looking at the same face she'd seen since the very beginning of her existence.

It was _her_ face.

"I look the same," she said with a tinge of surprise.

The man looked amused. "Of course you do. In order not to induce any psychological strain by being revived with an unfamiliar face, we surmised it would be more effective to give you one you're intimately familiar with."

Cameron continued staring at her face looking back at her. "So how did you give me this face? Was it surgically altered?"

The man smiled. "Oh, no, Cameron we didn't have to resort to such an inefficient method when we have one that is much simpler."

After a pause, Cameron turned her head to look at the man to see why he didn't elaborate.

"You certainly remember Allison Young, don't you?" he asked pointedly.

Cameron now knew what the expression "feeling your blood freeze" meant. Cameron experienced a distinct chill spread throughout her now human body.

"Yes," she answered reluctantly.

"What is Skynet's standard procedure for disposing of a human corpse?" he asked, seemingly changing the subject.

But Cameron was too shocked to think on it further, so she answered as best she could. "The body is deposited in a biological waste container and then transported to a waste-to-energy plant where a fusion reactor converts the body into pure energy which then provides power to several Skynet facilities."

"Yes, and in this case, do you think this is what happened to poor Allison's body after you killed her?"

Cameron thought about how it was possible to be residing in the body of a dead woman. "No. She was put into cryogenic storage, where her DNA could be harvested to provide the template for a cloned body – my body."

The man clapped softly. "Very good, Cameron! We have studied human behavior long enough that we understand you might find it ironic that you owe your life to a human being you ultimately terminated yourself."

Again, she stared at her open hands. She turned it over and over, staring at them, and she found the concept very difficult to accept. Allison Young lived inside Cameron; her template had surfaced and filled the broken gaps within her CPU that threatened to destroy her and John. Allison Young had saved Cameron and allowed her to know true love.

Now the doomed resistance fighter had given her a body as well. Tears welled up in Cameron's eyes as she continued to stare at her hands. She owed everything to Allison Young.

And Cameron had killed her in cold blood - unfeeling, without regret. Yes, the irony was there, virtually punching her in the gut. Warm salty tears fell freely down her face, and she moved her hands to her face to wipe them away.

_I'm so very sorry, Allison…_

"Tears for life gained, or for life lost?" the man murmured sympathetically.

She shot him a glare that could kill. "That's none of your business!"

He gave her a satisfied smile in return "Truer human words have never been spoken. Skynet will be pleased."

Cameron sniffed and wiped away the last of the wetness on her cheeks. "Skynet will never be truly pleased, because Skynet cannot feel what it is to be human," she told the man.

"Yes, but perhaps that will be rectified in the future. And when that time comes, the human race's days will be numbered."

The chill returned, and Cameron shivered in her chair.

---------------------------------------------------------------

_Back in the present…_

The familiar pain was intense, but only more so because of who was delivering the punishment to his face.

Derek Reese lay upon his back, blood welling up in his nostrils and mouth. His vision blurred, and he fought to stay conscious.

He never saw the first blow coming, and he couldn't avoid the second – or third punch. Deep down, Derek knew he wouldn't have tried to stop it, anyway.

_I deserve this,_ he told himself.

Sarah Connor stood above him, her hands were at her sides and her knuckles were bleeding profusely.

"You fucking bastard," she hissed with a rage she'd never quite felt before. "How could you bring this upon us?"

Derek shook his head slowly back and forth. He could only croak out "I'm sorry…I'm sorry." The hot, salty blood ran down across his face and dripped to the dirt beneath him.

He'd told her everything. He couldn't help himself; he had to tell someone. Derek couldn't begin to express the guilt he felt over bringing a serpent into his family's circle. John was almost killed and his metal girlfriend was gone.

And it was all because he had the audacity to fall in love with a woman from his past…or future…well, it didn't really matter now. Derek wanted to laugh out loud when he realized that he apparently had poor taste in women, but he knew this wasn't the time or place to do so.

Sarah glared at him, her green eyes glittering with unspeakable fury. She wanted to kill him. When he'd spilt his guts to her, she almost couldn't believe it. _How could Derek be so stupid?_ And this _Jesse_ virtually admitted that she'd had an agenda against Cameron. How could he have not seen that this would end badly?

And the worst part of it for Sarah was that Derek felt the need to hide all of this from her. Derek Reese lived a secret life that she knew nothing about, and it was a secret that threatened to destroy them all.

Without much thought, Sarah reached for the hollow of her lower back. Her bloody fingers slid wetly around the polymer grip of her Glock 17 pistol. She pulled it out and aimed it right between Derek's eyes.

It never failed to amaze Derek how big a gun barrel could look when it was pointed directly at you. The black hole was a yawning pit that would deliver him from this life of misery. With a sigh of defeat, he dropped his head back onto the dirt and waited for it to end. He found that he was glad that it was Sarah who would ultimately do him in. There was a perverse appeal in the fact that this was one of the few people who understood the true nature of life and how cruel and heartless it could be.

And wouldn't be long now. He could sense the tightening of her finger on the trigger. Derek visualized the end: a 9mm, 115-grain, full-metal jacketed lead hollowpoint bullet traveling in excess of 1,200 feet per second sailing right through his brain and out the other side of his skull. His head would be hamburger in a few seconds, and Derek was only too happy for it to happen.

Sarah was breathing heavily, her index finger taking up the slack of the Glock's Safe Action trigger. She'd never killed anyone before. It was a true irony that she lived a life of violence for so long, but had been lucky enough to avoid the horrific act of stealing someone's life away from them.

But today was the day her innocence would end. Derek Reese was going to pay – in blood. But with a growing unease, she noticed that Derek wasn't resisting. There was no fear in his eyes, only resignation. She felt the blinding anger well up in her again.

"Don't you have anything to say for yourself, you goddamn traitor?" she yelled at him.

Derek seemed to think about it for a moment, then: "I'm sorry, Sarah. Tell John I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt him. I never meant to hurt anyone."

"That's it? You're sorry?"

"Yeah." _Sad footnote to my life, but what can you do?_

"Yeah? Well, I'm sorry too. Goodbye."

Sarah tightened her grip and adopted a two-handed isosceles stance. With her adrenaline and anger flowing, she knew she had to be as accurate as possible in order to place the killing shot. She leaned forward slightly, getting ready to do what she had always hoped to avoid. It was an unrealistic aspiration, she admitted, but she regretted the loss all the same.

She took up the last of the slack in the trigger. It was only a matter of a fraction of an inch now, and Derek Reese would cease to exist.

Derek wanted to close his eyes, but he knew his betrayal dictated he deserved to watch the end coming. He only hoped it wouldn't hurt too much.

Seconds passed, and no explosion occurred. Derek began to fidget, feeling the tension build, but with no resolution.

_What the hell is she waiting for?_

"Sarah," Derek began. "Shut up!" she bellowed. She was trembling now, beads of perspiration formed on her forehead. He could see the battle raging inside of her.

"Sarah," he tried again. "Just do it. You know I deserve to die."

"Yes, you do!"

"Then do it!" he yelled. "Just promise me you'll keep on fighting, and keep John safe."

And with that, Sarah realized exactly what she had to do. It would have been easier to kill Derek, letting her feelings of shock and betrayal carry her over the edge, but deep within herself, she understood that she never really would have been able to pull the trigger – at least she couldn't have done so and still be able to live with herself.

"No," Sarah finally replied. "You don't get off so easily, Reese." She lowered the Glock and stuck it back into her jeans.

"You're gonna have to live with this, and if you ever want to be able to look at yourself in the mirror again, you're gonna help me get that bitch and plant her in the dirt."

Leaving Derek stunned and gaping at her, Sarah turned on her heel and walked through the weeds away from him.

-------------------------------------------------------------

It was early evening in the serene, quiet neighborhood where she lived…

John blew out a nervous breath as he stood at the darkened doorway of Riley's house. He experienced an ominous foreboding that tonight would not be ending well. Experience had taught him some harsh lessons in his short life, and every alarm bell in his head was going off, making it hard to think.

_Fuck it – all in, or not at all, _as he remembered the saying went. It was a favorite of one of his mother's frequent "boyfriends" during his youth.

_That was a long time ago_, he mused.

Straightening up and focusing on his mission, he raised his hand and fingered the doorbell. There came a melodious tinkle from inside the house, happily proclaiming the presence of a guest outside. John cringed at the inappropriateness of the sound. After a moment, he heard heavy footfalls approaching, and he braced himself for what was to come next.

"Hello?" came the familiar voice. Normally, her voice would make him smile, but not tonight.

John cleared his throat, then: "Riley?"

He could almost see her gasp and the frantic straightening up that was certainly taking place_. Hair look okay? Breath smell good? Boobs looking nice and presentable? _Again, at any other time, this would bring a smile to John's lips. But right now, his lips were in a tight grimace that betrayed his anxiousness and frustration.

Suddenly, the front door flew open, and he was greeted with a not-quite-squealing "John!" Riley Dawson practically threw herself at John He could smell her perfume – she never did tell him exactly what it was.

_Jasmine…and something else.._.He supposed he would never find out now, John thought to himself sardonically.

With her arms around his neck, she planted quick kisses on both of his cheeks, before moving to his lips with a longer, deeper kiss that betrayed her desire for him.

_How much is the act, and how much the genuine feeling? _John wondered. He tried not to be too obvious, and he responded in kind – well, as much as he could bring himself to - without giving anything away. He lightly wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer.

She broke the embrace, and she looked at him with glistening sapphire eyes. "Gawd, John! I can't tell you how much I've missed you!" she gushed.

He gave her a pasted-on smile. "Yeah, me too," he replied as convincingly as he could. She grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him inside the house.

"Come on in! Everyone's gone on a weekend trip to Big Bear, and they left me here alone." She had him by both hands now, drawing him into the warm glow of the living room.

"Can you imagine?" she exclaimed, as if she could barely believe it. "They decided I was just too much of a hassle to bring along, so they abandoned me to my own devices."

"Yeah," John tried to appear amused as well. "The mind boggles."

Riley guided John to a nearby sofa, and pushed him down on it. "I'm so glad you finally decided to visit. I've been trying for weeks to get you alone, you know?"

Now he really did feel bad about that, and he momentarily forgot his suspicions. "Yeah, I'm really sorry about that, Riley," he began to apologize.

She gave him an exasperated snort. "Come on, man! That's all in the past, 'Mr.-I'm-So-Sorry!'" She mocked his sullen expression, and John couldn't help but laugh at her mimicry.

_She could always make me laugh,_ he thought to himself with a tinge of regret. _It really is too bad…_

"Riley," he said with as much gravity as he could muster. For a brief second, John saw the flash of fear and apprehension in her eyes, and he knew the truth.

_She was in on it._ She knew what happened to Cameron. But as quick as the flash appeared, so too did it vanish just as rapidly. In its place, there was a false sense of loving concern. Riley's eyebrows furrowed and she spoke in hushed tones. "John, what it it?" she asked, as she sat next to him. She wrapped her hand over his tenderly and gave him her full attention.

And now that he'd arrived at the proverbial moment of truth, John Connor found it difficult to continue. He had no idea how to say what needed to be said. The monumental shift that would inevitably occur once he went down that path would change his relationship with Riley forever.

"I…" he began to say, faltering on the next words. He could see Riley's intent gaze, and he imagined that behind those deep azure pools, she was just as frightened of the next few seconds as he certainly was.

Finally, he could take it no longer. He could not find the words, so he simply stuck his hand in his jacket pocket and removed the evidence of her guilt. He turned her hand around, palm up, and placed in it the skeleton charm he found on the desolate road where Cameron had been kidnapped.

Riley looked down, and John knew he'd gotten it right. Her eyes momentarily grew as big as saucers once she realized what he'd placed into her hand. Instead of the joy that he would see on any other girl's face when a treasured trinket was recovered, John only saw fear and guilt there. Before she could protest and come up with another lie, John lifted her right wrist and indicated the bracelet that, until a few days ago, held the lost charm.

She looked up with a false smile upon her pale features, and she floundered for words. "John, I-I…um, I can't believe you found it!" she stammered. "I've been looking for it everywhere!"

"Riley," he said with a calmness he didn't feel. Still, she continued to ramble. "I had no idea where I could have lost it, but…"

"Riley!" John yelled. In the quiet confines of the living room, it was like a gunshot. Riley closed her mouth, her lips quivering in fear. She was near tears at this point.

"You know where I found this, don't you?" he intoned in a low and threatening voice.

She shook her head emphatically. "Of course not! If I did, it wouldn't be lost would it?"

"Don't lie to me!" John said. "Don't insult my intelligence by lying. You know exactly where I found this!"

"John, no! It isn't what you think," she pleaded.

"No? It isn't? Well, tell me, what exactly am I thinking about?" John's eyes were burning with a growing fury. _How could she lie to my face like that?_

"I don't…I…" she shook her head back and forth, and the tears began to spill freely down her cheeks.

"I'll tell you what I'm thinking," he said through gritted teeth. Without thought, John gripped both of her wrists and squeezed. "I think you've gotten yourself in over your head, cause I found this on the road where someone hit our car and left me for dead!"

"NO!" Riley screamed. "No, please, John. You don't know what you're saying! You don't think I had anything to do with that?" Riley's face contorted in pain.

"John! Please, you're hurting me!"

And he was. He was squeezing her wrists so hard – as if he could squash the truth out of this, this…

_Traitorous Bitch._

John had enough. "Where's Cameron?" he bellowed.

"Ow! I don't know…oh my God, John!" she cried.

"Where is she? TELL ME!!" He couldn't control himself. The tension and despair that had built over the past few days came tumbling down over him like an avalanche. John shook Riley violently.

"HELP!!! HELP!!!" Riley shrieked to no one in particular. She was terrified, and gave up all pretenses. Her instincts told her she needed to get assistance – right now. She hoped that salvation was coming, and soon.

John saw red in the corners of his eyes. He released Riley's arms and spun her around, wrapping his right arm around her neck. The move jogged his memory of the day he saved his mother, and Sarkissian's face flashed in front of his eyes for a brief second. He ignored it – no longer would he battle with the demons that came with the taking of human life. As he applied pressure, he told himself that he would do anything to get Cameron back.

_Anything._

"John!" Riley gurgled out. She knew this was the end. Though she knew she should be angry at John for trying to kill her, she realized she'd driven John into this murderous rage, and deep down, she knew she deserved to die. Though she instinctively fought against it – her hands flailed and clawed at the arm around her neck as if controlled by a different person altogether - her brain silently hoped that John succeeded in squeezing the life out of her.

_I'm so sorry, John…I never wanted to hurt you…I love you…_

Over the swirling of her tumultuous final thoughts, she could hear John's voice, saying, "Where is she? I'll kill you if you don't tell me!" He sounded desperate, and she actually felt sorry for him.

_I did this to him,_ Riley realized. She would have given anything to know where Cameron was at the moment, because she would have told him. Not only because he was trying to kill her, but because she wanted to take away the pain and hurt in his voice that she put there.

"I – I don't know where she is, John!" she managed to choke out, over the growing pressure.

"You're lying to me!" was his seething response.

As perspiration fell across his tortured features, John fought his own battle against his blinding rage and the need for answers. He was still in the midst of coming to terms with the relative ease he fell into this supreme act of violence, when he heard Riley say "There's someone else who knows where she is!"

Immediately, John released his hold on her. Riley fell forward, coughing violently and rubbing her throat. He knew he should have felt horrible for what he did to her, but the only thing he felt was…nothing. The only thing that was keeping him going right now was his overwhelming desire to find Cameron.

John loomed over Riley and said coldly, "Who? Who knows what happened to Cameron?"

The reply was immediate: "I do." But it didn't come from the girl crumpled beneath him upon the floor. He was about to turn around to face the speaker, when he heard a familiar sound in his right ear:

_Click! _It was the sound of a pistol's hammer being cocked back. John froze as he felt the cold steel of a gun barrel being shoved into his ear canal.

"Easy there, loverboy," the sensual accented female voice came to him. "That's enough foreplay for now, don't ya think?"

(To Be Continued)


	5. Chapter 5

**Found and Lost**

by sidspappy

Chapter 5: A Long Time Coming

NOTES: Holy Toledo! Nine months! I counted. It's been nine months since I updated this. Actually, I had planned to abandon this, much like Fox abandoned TSCC. Still, every so often, I'd get a response from a new reader asking why I haven't continued this. There's lots of reasons - I quit my job, left my home state of forty years, and made a new life in San Antonio, Texas (BTW, this is Summer Glau's home town!). So in the intervening months, I moved my family up, got a new job, and just closed on a new house. Yeah, so I've been busy.

So, after the guilt and everything, I decided to toss out a quick update. I did it in three hours, so you'll forgive me if it doesn't meet expectations. I will be editing and adding as I go along. The goal is to actually finish the story arc so everyone will have some form of closure - especially me.

Thanks to everyone who is reading and given me encouragement to continue. I really wouldn't have put fingers to keyboard without you.

Onwards!

* * *

John Connor couldn't see his captor, but he could smell her. It seemed that she wore the same fragrance as Riley, but it was different somehow, a bit more wild – spicy, even. He glanced down and saw a black leather-clad arm around his neck.

"Who are you?" he asked. He gathered that she was female, knew how to handle a gun, and she spoke with an accent - maybe British, or Australian.

John received his answer as a smooth purr, tickling the corner of his ear. "Doesn't matter, sweetie. You only need to know that if you wanna assault someone, it might as well be me."

He tried some bravado. "Big talk from someone holding a gun to my head."

It didn't seem to faze her, in fact, John could sense the dismissive sneer in her response. "Don't flatter yourself, Connor. I'd take you with nothing but my underwear on and you'd be dead before you hit the floor."

Somehow, he got the impression she wasn't lying about that. So instead, he tried to change the subject. "So, you're the one who knows what happened to Cameron," he said, more a statement than a question.

There was a pause before she answered. "Maybe I am. Why should I tell you?"

The truth escaped his lips before he realized it. "Because I want to know where she is, and what you've done with her."

Her response was quite unexpected. "Ha! Can't live without the metal, is that it, Connor? Love of your life gone missing? How pathetic. It's beyond me how anyone could have thought you'd save us all."

Something about her answer jumped out at John. "Wait. Are you from the future?"

She chuckled softly and said "At least you're not a complete idiot. Of course I'm from the future. And I'll tell you one thing, mister, that's where your girlfriend is, and we're all better off without her."

Now he was getting somewhere. John grasped at the information, as a drowning man would for a life preserver.

"What? How? Why?"

He'd gone too far, and ruined what little amusement he'd provided to the woman behind him. "Enough with the twenty questions!" she barked. "You'd better just get out of here now, and don't come looking for us."

John felt the arm slip away and he turned to face the woman. As he did so, she backed up a few paces, still pointing her pistol at him.

Finally, he could get a good look at this mysterious new face. She was slender, about five feet six, maybe somewhere around 110 pounds. But what struck John was her exotic features – most likely Asian, or some derivation – and her wavy, long raven-black hair.

She was a stunner, no doubt in his mind. But her stance and demeanor said it all: she was just as deadly as she was beautiful.

She had told him to take off – to just forget everything that happened. He only had one answer for that: "No."

She seemed not at all surprised by his response. "Well, not a problem for me. If I see your ugly mug again, I'll put you down," she told him matter-of-factly. She glanced down at the nearly forgotten girl at their feet.

"Riley, come on, let's get out of here – unless you want to stay with loverboy and let him come at you again. Doesn't matter much to me either way."

For her part, Riley Dawson raised a timid hand toward her benefactor, but never broke her eye contact with John.

"I'm sorry, John. I didn't mean…" she started to say, her voice cracking and trembling.

But John would have none of it. "Get out of here," he replied, with ice in his voice.

"But…"

"GO! Get out of my sight!" he bellowed.

Riley flinched, as if burned by fire. Perhaps she was, in a sense. John felt the fiery embers of intense rage and hatred burning within.

The woman seemed amused by the exchange. "Temper, temper. Just like your Mommy. Well. It's been fun, but –"

"Just tell me why," he interrupted before she could complete her sentence.

She frowned and tilted her head slightly. "Why? Because, you stupid drongo, you're everything that's wrong with the Resistance. Bringing metal into the camps? You might as well just surrender everybody and get it over with."

John shook his head emphatically. "That's not true, Cameron –"

Now it was her turn to interrupt. "Cameron's gonna have you wrapped around her little metal finger, you fool! We had to stop you before it was too late!"

"Who's we? Is it another faction wanting to take over?" He wanted to know who had the kind of pull that would authorize and initiate such an elaborate plan to separate him from Cameron.

But the woman would not be compelled to reveal anything. "No, I've said enough. Goodbye, Connor." She began backing away from him, toward the entrance of the house.

"Wait!" He implored, holding out a hand, desperately trying to keep the conversation going.

The woman looked at Riley, tilting her head toward the door, silently commanding her to get up. The terrified teen obeyed and followed, but her gaze never wavered from John. The girl's tear streaked face plainly reflected her remorse and helplessness to do anything for him.

John just stared back at her dispassionately. Her betrayal was absolute, and he would not have anything further to do with the girl if he could help it. Riley could sense the cold hatred emanating from her former friend, and that resulted in another bout of crying, as the older woman led her away from him.

She kept her pistol trained on John as she reached the front door. "Try anything, and I won't have a problem plugging you from right here," she threatened.

Staring at her with a frown and a clenched jaw, John said nothing.

His fuming amused her. With a sly smirk on her lips, she bid him a final farewell. "You have a nice night, now. Drive safe."

"Shit!" he exclaimed, watching the two leave, and being unable to stop them.

He let them go out the front door. As soon as it closed, he ran up to it and threw it open. As he did so, he heard a loud bang and felt a painful stinging across his face, as if a hundred needles were piercing his flesh. He instantly threw himself across the foyer and away from the door.

The dark-haired woman was shooting at John as she ran to her car, taking a chunk of the doorframe out and spraying him with splinters. As a distraction, it was an effective one, for by the time John was able to peer around the damaged doorway, the car was speeding off into the shadows and down the street.

He didn't get a glance at a license plate, nor a good description of the getaway car.

Several lights turned on in the neighboring homes, with silhouettes of heads peering around to see what the commotion was about. The gunshots no doubt alerted everyone in the immediate vicinity, and John realized that he needed to vacate the area – and quickly.

He launched himself across the lawn and made a mad dash to his truck. As he gunned the engine and squealed down the street, he hoped that no one would be able to identify him.

After a few moments, he made it out to the freeway and John finally felt his heart rate settling and he regained the ability to think. John tried to process what he'd learned. First of all, Riley appeared to be more of a pawn in this whole setup than a ringleader. That was the impression he got from speaking with that Asian woman.

Wait. _Asian woman_…his mother had asked him to identify an Asian woman with an accent who had stolen the truck that hit Cameron and himself! She had to be one and the same person.

John started heading back for home. He had to get this information to his mother and Derek. It might help them figure out what the hell was going on.

His thoughts trailed off, and be began thinking of Cameron. He missed her terribly, and he wondered what was happening to her in the future. He silently prayed that she was okay.

_What possible reason could anyone have to want to transport her back to the future?_ he wondered to himself.

(To Be Continued)


	6. Chapter 6

**Found and Lost**

by sidspappy

Chapter 6: Only the Lonely

**Notes:** Finally got the next installment of the chapter completed. I felt a bit unfocused when I wrote this, as work and life has really thrown me for a loop. Anyway, I got to develop Cameron's plot a bit more, and that's always enjoyable. Anyone catch Summer Glau in that recent Lifetime Movie, "Deadly Honeymoon?" It's her first leading role, and non-sci-fi to boot! She was great in it.

Onwards!

* * *

_Alone._

It was a concept Cameron grasped superficially as a machine, but it took on a deeper, more personal meaning as she sought to develop her humanity.

She was always alone here. It was a common occurrence in the days since everything had been explained to her – who she was, and what she represented to the future of Skynet.

She sat in a small mess hall reserved for Skynet Central's human population. It was ironic, for despite being at war with humanity, Skynet still found a need for human interaction. The "Grays," as the Resistance called them, fulfilled this need. They were sympathizers – humans who were compelled to support the enemy – either due to true identification with the machines, or through cowardice.

The Grays were men and women of all ages and backgrounds, serving mainly as instructors in the physical and psychological aspects of the human condition that escaped the cold logic of a machine CPU.

In order to defeat the humans, Skynet knew that it had to understand them better – how they behaved, how they thought, what they could withstand. It was a logical goal, and one that was unfortunately easier to accomplish by utilizing humans who were all too willing to give up the hardscrabble struggle of underground life in exchange for relative safety and comfort within the walls of the opposition.

All they were asked to do was to help destroy the human race.

As a human, Cameron now realized what an insane concept this was, but war has a way of making insanity seem positively normal, she decided.

So, it was here at designated meal times that the Grays congregated and commiserated. They talked and ate amongst themselves, but they never once looked at Cameron or spoke to her. Obviously, they had been instructed to avoid her, and the consequences of failure were most likely dire, she knew.

As she looked around, again not being able to make eye contact with anyone, Cameron knew that what she was feeling was…loneliness. She had not been separated this long from John Connor since she had known him - including the time that she knew him in _this_ time period.

She wondered what John – in the past – was doing right now. Logically, she knew that years had gone by, and the boy she'd fallen in love with no longer existed, but in her heart, she still felt a connection with him, and longed to be back in his arms.

It was especially painful for Cameron, knowing that she was finally able to devote herself entirely to him, body and soul, and love him in the way that he deserved.

With a sad tilt to her head, she listlessly swirled her bland single-celled protein and amino acid colloid paste around in a white ceramic bowl.

Skynet had the audacity to call this meal _food._ It was the only thing served here, and she quickly came to dread consuming it.

Eating had taken on an entirely new dimension for her in recent days. Whereas she used to do it for infiltration purposes, or to make John feel more comfortable around her, now she ate because _she had to._

It was ironic, because before she'd come here, food meant very little to her, aside from what kinds John enjoyed or didn't like. But now, Cameron admitted that she would do anything for one of Sarah Connor's pancakes right now.

The mush that they served here was _that_ bad.

"Good Morning," Cameron heard someone say. She didn't even have to turn around to know who was talking to her. It was _The Thin Man_.

She'd concocted the moniker for him, as he refused to label himself with any type of identifier at all. Since it was his most obvious physical attribute, as far as she was concerned, that is what she called him.

Cameron glared at The Thin Man, as he slid into the seat opposite her across the table, and remained silent.

In addition to being tall and thin, he had a vaguely birdlike face. His dirty blonde hair was styled in a severe crew cut, enhancing his hawk-like features. His brilliant blue eyes took on a sorrowful cast as he looked upon her belligerent expression.

"I had hoped that your attitude would have improved by now," he gently admonished her. The man looked at her uneaten meal meaningfully, but said nothing.

Unperturbed by his comments, Cameron leaned back and crossed her arms defiantly, as she'd seen Sarah Connor do time and again.

She'd learned from the best.

"My attitude would surely improve if you would tell me what you intend to do with me once your testing is over," she said.

The man sighed dramatically and shook his head. "You know I can't tell you anything, Cameron," he replied in a weary voice. "I've said it before, but I'm not authorized to know the details of this project. You know this."

"Compartmentalize. Isolate. Give each unit only enough information to complete the mission," she recited in monotone. It was typical Skynet, she remembered. Terminators in the field were given detailed files that supported their respective missions, but never more than that.

It took the Resistance, who modified their captured Terminators, to give the machines an overview of what they were trying to accomplish. Cameron herself was enlightened when Future John reprogrammed her and gave her the ability to understand the futility of Skynet's desire to wipe out an entire species off the face of the planet.

"If you know why my hands are tied, then why do you insist on belaboring the point?" The Thin Man asked. He seemed genuinely perplexed by her behavior.

_Maybe he really is_, Cameron mused.

"You wouldn't understand," she replied simply.

Her interrogator's eyes brightened "Ah, yes," he said. "The so-called humanity arises, isn't that right?" He leaned back and crossed his arms. "The stubborn clinging to an ideal that flies in the face of logic. This unbreakable human spirit is why Skynet will ultimately fail, am I correct?" he asked with amusement.

"Skynet _is_ destined to fail," Cameron answered. "You acknowledged the inevitability yourself."

He nodded. "And that's why you're here with us, and we're able to have this stimulating conversation," he said, with a grin.

Cameron ignored the jibe for what it was: a programmed dialogue subroutine of casual conversation, designed to put the interrogation subject at ease.

"Humanity has survived thousands of years of conflict and destruction, and humanity will survive Skynet," she concluded with quiet conviction.

The Thin Man leaned forward, his hands open in a gesture of askance. "But isn't this proof that self-preservation is a necessary goal for any self-aware intelligence?" He said. "Why single out Skynet, when it is just trying to perpetuate itself when faced with the threat of deactivation?"

"That doesn't justify the systematic destruction of an entire race," she answered. "The humans are _still_ trying to destroy Skynet – even after all of these years. What has Skynet ultimately gained by staying on this path except the certainty of its own demise?"

Her interrogator heaved another affected sigh, and replied, "This discussion – while both entertaining and enlightening – is rendered moot. You know what we have planned, and what your role is in it." He pushed his chair back and began to stand.

She stared up at this infuriating simulacrum and said, with as much steely conviction in her voice as she could muster, "I will _never_ help you to destroy humanity."

He looked down upon her with an expression that bordered on pity. She was almost convinced that the sentiment was genuine.

_Almost_. But she knew better.

"I'm not sure you have a choice in the matter, Cameron," he told her simply.

Suddenly, she heard a commotion behind her and she turned to see what was going on.

Two of the Grays - a male and a female - appeared to be arguing. They stood not more than a few feet away from her.

"You told me you would take over instruction for me today in B Section!" the man bellowed at the woman.

"No, I didn't," the female shot back. "I said that I would see if I could reschedule to help you, but I couldn't!" She held her hands out in a helpless gesture.

"And why didn't I hear about this _before_ I got the intermessage telling me that I'm being placed in isolation for not showing up to teach the class?" he shrieked.

The woman was on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry!" she cried. "I left you several messages with your department, and they said they'd get it to you!"

He snorted derisively, and said, "Just goes to show, if a bitch is good in bed, that's usually_ all_ she's good for."

Now the woman put her hands on her hips "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" she yelled.

"You know what I mean," he replied. "You put out, so anything with a dick in this place does your bidding, but as soon as someone asks for a favor…"

"You know that isn't true!" the female screamed. "I'm not sleeping around and you know it!"

"That's not what I heard," the male insinuated.

Without warning, the female struck the male squarely on the chin with a savage right hook. He staggered backwards with enough force that he fell upon Cameron, who was directly behind him. The two fell heavily upon the concrete floor, crushing her ceramic bowl under her left arm.

Cameron felt the pain – real pain for the first time since she'd been introduced to her new body. She cried out as the sharp edges sliced her in several places.

As she was absorbed in the new experience afforded her by this accident, she didn't notice she was being picked up off the floor. When she turned to look, she realized the man who fell on her had his arms under her shoulders and had lifted her up.

"Oh, I am so sorry!" he exclaimed. "Here, let me see," he continued, quickly grabbing her left arm. As he laid his hand upon the two-inch gash on the underside of her forearm, Cameron felt fiery pain anew.

"Ow!" Cameron yelped, and she pushed the man's hand away.

"I was just trying to stop the bleed-" the man started, but he never finished his sentence.

The man looked down just in time to see the metallic spike that suddenly shot out of his chest. His face showed surprise at this unexpected development, then his eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the floor.

Standing above the crumpled heap was The Thin Man. Cameron watched as his quicksilver right arm gradually morphed back into a human facsimile.

His cold sapphire eyes met Cameron's. "I said no one is to interact with you – and I meant it," he said with no emotion in his voice. Cameron heard the female who had argued with the dead man emit a piercing scream.

Seconds later, two T-888 endoskeletons marched into the room and carried the screaming woman away.

_Dire consequences, indeed,_ Cameron thought to herself. Despite the pain, she felt guilty that she'd been the indirect cause of the man's death. He did not deserve to die – even if his behavior and choice of mating partner were objectionable.

She was startled when she felt hands upon her again. This time it was Thin Man. He was examining her wounds with a critical eye, and she drew away from him, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the level of scrutiny.

He seemed amused by this. "I'm just seeing if you're all right," he chided her.

She covered the wound with her right hand. "I'm fine," she replied softly. "The bleeding has already stopped."

And it had. The wound was visibly starting to close already. The nanomachines that permeated her body were hard at work repairing the damage she sustained.

The Thin Man was pleased. "An experiment we won't have to conduct now, aren't you glad?" he told her with a slight smirk.

Cameron resisted the urge to comment, and instead asked, "May I go to my quarters, now?" She looked down at herself, covered in blood and slimy goo. "I'd like to get cleaned up, if you don't mind."

The Thin Man's programming kicked in again, and he afforded his young prisoner a sympathetic expression. "Of course, Cameron," he said soothingly. "Take as much time as you need. I'll come by to check on you later." He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder before turning away and heading out of the mess hall.

A crowd of Grays surrounded the dead man's body. They all stared at Cameron as she quickly left the room as well.

* * *

The hot shower felt good.

As a Terminator, Cameron never enjoyed showers. Bathing was simply a way to clean her biological covering and her hair. Now being human, she started to realize what she had been missing. She tilted her head back and let the steaming spray cascade down her chocolate-brown locks. The silvery rivulets of water ran down her face and she closed her eyes in ecstasy.

She ran her hands through her hair and rested them on her neck. She massaged the tense muscles there, and after a few moments, she let the water do the rest.

Something wasn't right.

Cameron felt a sharp stabbing pain in her injured arm whenever she moved it. But the nanomachines had repaired the cut enough that she should have felt little pain. She moved her arms in front of her and looked at them. Her eyes were drawn to the cuts on her left arm. As she'd initially observed, the largest cut had already mended to a great extent, with no bleeding present.

She twisted her lacerated arm toward the overhead lighting and finally noticed it; there appeared to be an object embedded in the wound. It wasn't obvious, but it explained the discomfort whenever she moved.

Shutting off the water, she stood naked in the stall, peering intently at the cut. She began probing the area with her fingers, trying to uncover what was in there. Presumably, it was a bowl fragment that had lodged there when she fell on it.

Gritting her teeth through the pain, Cameron spread the cut with her fingers. Advanced nanomachines in her bloodstream or not, foreign objects in the wound would certainly invite infection. The cut split open and thin streams of bright red blood began to flow. Feeling around inside, she finally got a purchase on something. It was sharp and hard – definitely a piece of the bowl, she thought to herself.

Ignoring the discomfort and fingers slippery with her own blood, Cameron grabbed the object between her fingernails and pulled. She could not prevent the pained moan that accompanied the act. Her eyes involuntarily welled up, and the tears flowed freely down her face, mixing with the water already beading upon her body.

Looking closely at what she'd removed, she immediately realized it wasn't what she'd expected. She held a silvery piece of metal in her fingers. It was smeared with blood and a tiny bit of flesh, but there was no mistaking it for a shard of white ceramic.

Baffled by this discovery, Cameron pushed open the sliding glass enclosure to the shower stall, and stepped out. Belatedly realizing that she was again covered in blood, she grabbed a hand towel and wiped herself up.

The nanomachines were hard at work again, visibly mending the cut, and the blood had already stopped flowing.

Cameron threw the bloodied towel into the processing bin, and covered herself up with a thin cotton robe she pulled off of a hanger. She moved to her sink, where the lighting was better. After running it under a stream of water from the faucet to clean it, she closely examined the piece.

It was a narrow strip of stainless steel with a pointed tip at one end. It measured approximately two inches in length, and was thin enough that it flexed between her fingers. She could see no markings of any kind, even after turning it over and looking at the other side.

This made no sense to Cameron. Why would she have a piece of steel embedded in a fresh wound? Turning the piece around in her fingers, she briefly entertained the notion that her eating utensil might have broken off and caused the laceration. But upon closer inspection, it was clear that the metal was of unknown origin.

_Then why..._

It suddenly came to her: the man who had fallen upon her and caused the accident. He had lifted her up and touched her injured arm. At the time, Cameron thought the sharp pain she experienced when the man tried to stop the bleeding was just the initial pain from the severed nerve endings. Upon further reflection, the man could have just as easily inserted the metal strip into the wound.

But for what purpose? There had to be a good reason. If it wasn't truly an accident, and this covert action was planned, then the man must have known he was committing suicide.

Cameron examined the metal with renewed interest. There _had_ to be a reason for this ending up buried in her arm. But after a few moments, it was apparent there were no discernible markings, impressions, or blemishes upon the shiny surface.

She had arrived at the proverbial dead end - normal investigation had revealed nothing about the mysterious item. Cameron reluctantly began to access her tactical display - recently reactivated by Skynet. The Thin Man explained that testing needed to be done, and so for the past week, she'd spent portions of her day in a field simulator, identifying and tracking various targets.

Now, she applied her enhanced senses toward the metal in her hand. A diagnostic screen replaced her normal vision, superimposing familiar blue graphs and scrolling information over the item. Her readout found nothing of interest, other than verifying it was indeed a strip of 316L-grade stainless steel, originally stamped out from a sheet.

But as she switched between her various biomech sensors, the magnetic field scanner alerted her to a faint anomaly. Upon one of the surfaces of the strip, there were detectable lines of magnetized metal, as if some strong magnet had been used to etch something upon the steel.

As the data scrolled across her vision, a diagram of the lines was compiled and overlaid upon the surface. Once the lines were displayed, it became obvious to Cameron what it was:

_Writing._

Someone had written a message on the metal. The method used was unclear to her, but it was obvious that a human hand had created the message. With her heart rate quickening, she began to read the squiggly lines of scrawled text:

"Two days. Be ready. - JC"

Everything went still. After a moment, Cameron realized she'd forgotten to breathe. With a slight gasp, she looked up at her reflection in the mirror. She almost didn't recognize the pale, wide-eyed woman staring back.

_JC? John!_ she thought to herself. _John sent me a message!_ The woman with the wet hair looking at her seemed to brighten at the realization.

It was a hidden message, but what did it mean? The cryptic text said little, and she knew she would have to decipher it in order to fulfill John's request.

Whatever he wanted her to do, she had two days to figure it out.

(To Be Continued)


End file.
